Perpetual Virginity
by solange-annick
Summary: Perpetual virginity is a practice in the Church that can never be renounced nor abandoned. It is a lifelong vow, that when broken can result in the offender being sentenced to death. Isabella de Medici took the vow mere weeks before her arranged marriage- a decision that would change her, the Medici name, and history forever.
1. Chapter 1

*****Author's Note: (This will the only author's note in the entire story) The reason that I am writing this is to almost critique the church that existed at the time and highlight the hypocrisy of the church itself. I am Christian, but I think that this is a much needed critique from a historical standpoint. For the show, I Medici, I wanted to experiment with the characters and see how well I could keep them within character and keep the storyline of the show, but change the perspective of their actions and words. Mainly Rinaldo delgi Albizzi and Giovanni de Medici. By adding Isabella, it increases the moral awareness of each character. Yes, the church and morals are large players in the TV show, but by contrasting each character next to someone who sacrificed their entire future for a vow (which was taken for reasons that are not going to be revealed quickly or be quite as expected) it shows how human each character is. So basically think of this story as an extended character study. Other than that quick note, please enjoy and let me know what you think! Also, I update every Monday and Thursday! -Solange-Annick*****

FLORENCE, 1427

A teenage girl sat beside her mother and father in the mass for the death of Giovanni de Medici. Her hand gripped her mother's as she refused to look at her grandfather's lifeless body. It wasn't that hard to avert her eyes for the fact that a black veil obscured her face. She could feel the stares of the people of Florence. Everyone either wanted a glimpse of the most powerful man in the world or his granddaughter who evaded marriage for so long. Was she ugly? Deformed? Did she have scars all over her face?

Isabella de Medici should have been married off to a noble or rich family years ago. Yet here she sat with her family watching over her dead grandfather.  
Isabella recalled the words of the man in the crowd. "He was a tyrant. You know he ruined anybody who got in his way! He does not deserve to be mourned! We should celebrate!" Isabella privately agreed with the man. Hearing the news of her grandfather's death almost made her cry tears of joy. Seeing the mournful faces of the rest of her family told her to do otherwise.

"What the people of Florence owe Giovanni de Medici, they could never repay in gold. The Lord blessed his family with great wealth. Yet he acted not from greed, but from conviction."

Isabella inwardly scoffed. Her grandfather did not deserve such honors.

She buried her head in her father's chest and felt his arm wrap around her small body. To an outsider, it would seem that a father was comforting a mourning daughter. The truth was kept within her family- Isabella could not stand such a respectful ceremony for her dead grandfather. The knowledge of where his soul was falling made her sick to her stomach, but she knew he was deserving of the punishment.

Across the nave, Isabella locked eyes with Ormanno degli Albizzi. His father sat stiffly beside his son and paid respectable attention to the funeral. Ormanno quickly averted his eyes when Cosimo noticed the gaze between the two. Isabella felt her father hold her a little tighter, as if he was protecting her from his sworn enemy. Cosimo knew of their friendship, but did approve because Isabella's grandfather severed the relationship years ago. Now that Giovanni was dead, the question of her father's approval remained unanswered.

Isabella felt that it was not positive.

The youngest Medici admired the stained glass she had not seen in years while a castrato voice filled the hall. A whisper interrupted her bliss.

"Cosimo, I need to speak to you after the funeral. Immediately."

Isabella knew Marco's tone well. He did not use it often. It was reserved for dire situations. Her father nodded and Marco disappeared back into the crowd.

* * *

"Oh! I just cannot wait to take you shopping!" Lucrezia took another pin out of Isabella's hair. The curled lock fell to the side of her face. Lucrezia ran her fingers through the curls, something Isabella had inherited from her father. "You will look beautiful in green, just like mother."

Isabella let her reflection in the mirror smile. "I suppose I do need a few things, considering I will be going outside."

Lucrezia sat on the bench beside Isabella. The girl because acutely aware of how dull- no ugly- she was in comparison to Lucrezia. Her sister in law had flawless skin, dark blond hair, and a figure. Isabella had none of those qualities. Part of her face was covered with scars from a bout of the plague, her hair was dark as mud and unfortunately had a few grays, and she was as thin as a stick. All muscle and no grace. "I wish I was as pretty as you," Isabella said.

"Oh, nonsense," Lucrezia pulled a drawer open. "You are beautiful in your own way. I mean, you must be smarter than your brother and I put together. Not to mention, you can hold your own against any man."

She sat a small cannister on the table. Inside was a light, almost translucent powder. Very gently, Lucrezia dabbed some of the makeup on Isabella's scars and carefully blended it with the rest of her skin. Isabella watched in the mirror. Lucrezia wasn't making the scar disappear completely, but simply making them less apparent.

"Oh.." Isabella leaned closer to the mirror.

"See?" Lucrezia tapped Isabella's chin. "You have so much potential with the right resources."

Isabella admired herself while Lucrezia poured a cup of wine. "Do you know what Father and Marco were discussing today?"

"Sorry?" Isabella wasn't completely paying attention.

"At the funeral," she said. "Marco whispered something in Father's ear. Since you were right there I figured you must have heard something."

"It was just that Marco had to speak to him urgently. It's probably none of our business."

Lucrezia sighed. "Grandfather made you so timid. You used to be curious."

Isabella narrowed her eyes. _I'm not timid,_ she thought. _It's just that I know the consequences for being curious._ Her cheek stung with the memory. Lucrezia was never punished. Just Isabella.

"I think it had something to do with Grandfather's death," Isabella spoke. She hoped to prove Lucrezia wrong about her curiosity.

"I think so too," Lucrezia handed Isabella a cup of wine while she sipped her own. "That's the only thing Marco would be concerned about at this moment."

"Well…" Isabella started but decided to shut her mouth.

"You would know," Lucrezia said. "You are around him the most."

The way Lucrezia spoke made Isabella uneasy- as if she was implying anything but innocence. "That doesn't mean I have constant access to his innermost thoughts."

"You probably do, but don't realize it," Lucrezia sat next to Isabella and leaned forward with a smile on her face. "I've seen you two practicing. Hot and sweaty. I don't think you go unbound while fencing just for the comfort."

"Lucrezia!" Isabella stood abruptly. "How dare you! He is like a father to me! And you know I took a vow!"

The smirk didn't leave Lucrezia's face. "Just because you took a vow of virginity doesn't mean you can't _enjoy_ a presence."

Isabella shook her head, she a nearly shaking due to how offended she was. "I have things to do. So do you."

She left the room. Lucrezia and her had always disagreed on the vow- in a different way than the rest of the family. Lucrezia had wondered how Isabella could abandon intimacy and the opposite sex for a life of servitude to the church. _"You're one step away from dying an unloved nun in a convent who never felt the touch of a man."_ She would say, as if that wasn't the entire point of the Vow of Perpetual Virginity. The rest of the family was scandalized that she would betray the family line at not allow them to marry with the rest of the society- let alone two months before an arranged marriage.

Her grandfather was scandalized the most. After the vow, she was no longer a Medici in his eyes. She was lower than a servant- for her one purpose had been lost.

She continued down the corridor past her father's study. "Isabella!"

Cosimo stood in his doorway as Marco and Lorenzo left the study. He was worried. Isabella could read him like a book. His tense stance, furrowed brows, and death grip on his door caused a feeling of a sinking rock in her stomach. "Yes?"

"I need to speak to you. Now."

She swallowed, but followed her father inside the room regardless.

The study was recently inherited by her father- it was her grandfathers. She knew the room almost too well. Any time she stepped slightly out of line (or if her grandfather was in a bad mood) she would be sat in front of his desk and wait for the inevitable. The armrests of the chair had nail markings in the hardwood, a physical sign of Isabella's struggle not to cry or scream from the result of her grandfather's anger.

Nothing but fear entered Isabella's heart by entering the room.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Cosimo spoke softly. He pulled a chair next to his daughter. "I just a have a question."

Isabella nodded. Her father's reassuring words did not help and her hands slipped to their familiar places- full of scratches.

"Isabella," he voice was shaky. "Did you ever want to kill your grandfather?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Two years prior_

Isabella felt the freedom in her veins as her horse glided like the wind though the Florentine countryside. The longer she spent from the Medici estate the quicker she forgot to be afraid. The fresh air gave her confidence as the fields and vineyards sped past her.

Once the city of Florence had been gulped by the night, Isabella let her dark cowl fall to her shoulders. Her brown curls trailed behind her almost as carefree as she was.

Isabella knew that upon the morning her grandfather would order the Medici guards to hunt her down and bring her back to the estate. As a precaution, Isabella had brought a dagger at her side. She did not wish for a simple confrontation turn to injury, but if did come to that she was prepared. The Medici guard were simple boys who did not understand her strength. A year locked away had given Isabella time to build her power for there was nothing else to do once the books ran dry.

In the distance, a voice rang. It was so far that Isabella scarcely heard it. Nonetheless, she did.

"Isabella de Medici!"

The girl felt her heart skip a beat from fear. She pulled the reins and galloped into the forest that lined the wood. Isabella pulled the cowl up once again. She could not risk the guard spotting her pale skin in the woods.

Lanterns emerged from around the bend. This gave the young Medici haste.

Her dark horse guided her through the woods. The mare seemed to understand exactly what urgency and precision was required to navigate the terrain. Fallen trees were nothing to the mare.

The light behind Isabella faded to darkness as she reached the center of the woods. The black between the trees were the deepest she had ever witnessed. The moonlight struggled to reach the forest floor.

Still, Isabella galloped. The cool air numbed her nose and ears, brought water to her eyes. The fear of becoming lost was lesser than the fear of returning to the Medicis'.

Just as she felt the freedom return, she cautioned a glance behind her to ensure celebration. A moment too soon.

The branch hung low. Isabella had been able to avoid the rest but unfortunately there were no eyes in the back of her head. She met it face on and scarcely felt the pain from from collision. Her body went limp and fell from her horse. The mare dragged her body a way through the leaves and needles before her foot loosened from the stirrup.

The unconscious Medici laid on the forest floor for a moment. She woke to the wet leaves and sound of her doom in the distance. There was no possibility that she could outrun the Medici guard on foot. Isabella was now sentenced to being captured by the guard or trampled by their horses. She softly begged for the later.

All hope drained from her body. The least she could do was curl into a ball and await death.

Just as she began to mumble her last prayers of repentance, a figure loomed over her. "Isabella! Get up!"

She moaned. "No…"

The figure, male, sighed and wrenched her arm. Isabella yelped in pain. He lifted her up and took her to the side. There was a tree whose bottom's earth had worn out around it. The roots offered shelter for the two from the Medici guard.

The woods span around Isabella. She had yet to resume her focus on a fixed point. The stranger covered Isabella with his cloak and shrouded her in darkness. He pulled her close to her chest. Out of the chaos she could hear a very steady heartbeat- one that had forgotten how to panic. It was soothing.

"Isabella de Medici!" the familiar guard yelled. How had they managed to track her this far? Maybe they weren't idiots like she had thought.

The hooves made the ground shake and Isabella's breathing became curt and rapid. The stranger placed a hand over her mouth to quiet her.

Through the cloak Isabella saw the light from the lanterns. They passed. "I see a horse up ahead!" one of them yelled. They had seen Isabella's horse who had abandoned her. She quietly wished it luck, for she had received it for her twelfth name day. If the guard captured it and took it back to the estate, it would not fare well.

Isabella could picture it now, the guard bringing in another horse. Her parent's hopes would rise with the sight of the familiar animal and run down the stairs. Her mother would begin to cry from joy but her father would know better to have a premature celebration. He would inquire where Isabella was and one of the guards would shake their heads. Her mother collapses from grief- fearing the worst. Her father would take her in his arms and remind her that their daughter is strong and smart. Her grandfather would return his study, without a word, relieved that the black sheep of the family was dead, kidnapped, or lost.

The thought did not bode well with Isabella. So much that she hadn't realized that the men had passed and the roar faded into the distance.

There was a beat. Neither Isabella nor the stranger moved in the slightest.

The cloak uncovered her. Isabella looked up to the stranger to recognize them, but she couldn't focus. Their cowl obscured their face.

"Who…?" Isabella struggled.

The man reached for the cowl and her heart raced. Was it a mercenary that her grandfather sent? A rapist? A kidnapper, ready to hold her ransom against her fam-

The forest went quiet for a moment as Isabella recognized the stranger.

"Albizzi?"

A storm raged outside. Isabella stared out into the darkness of Florence with her mother. They held hands. Isabella gently squeezed her mother's hand three times. I. Love. You. It had become their quiet way of expressing devotion when Grandfather had banned it.

Isabella could feel her mother's worry. Her father had left in the afternoon and had yet to return. Isabella worried herself. Her love for her father was a complicated thing built on understanding. Isabella partially resented her father for letting her grandfather treat her terribly, but knew that there were limitations to her father's power over her grandfather. No doubt he was somewhere contemplating how he should move the family forward. Should he follow through on the punishment that destined to end on Isabella's twentieth name day, or grant her clemency? Should he wait until Grandmother died as well?

"Isabella!" Grandmother's voice cut through Isabella's thoughts. "Sit down at the table!"

Her mother squeezed her hand one last time before letting go. She sat down in the chair next to her grandmother. God, how she hated that spot. It was in front of her brother and next to the most horrendous woman in the world. She had yet to fathom how her uncle and father managed to remain sane throughout their childhood. The only redeeming factor was that it was next to her mother.

"Piero, are you quite alright?" Isabella chanced a glance at her brother. Tears freely fell from his face. Of course he would still be crying. He worshipped the ground that Grandfather walked on. Isabella caught his eye and looked down at her plate.

"I'm fine Grandmother." Isabella held back a laugh.

"Then stop making a spectacle of yourself with those tears! Your grandfather would want you to show strength!"

 _At least he didn't get hit harder if he began to cry._ Isabella thought. Over the years she had learned to hold them back.

The door opened and Lorenzo walked in. He gently placed his hands on Piero's shoulders as a sign of comfort. Isabella's head was still down, as it had always been. Lorenzo took a risk and went around the table. He leaned over and gently placed a kiss on Isabella's hairline.

Isabella's throat swelled.

"You think her punishment is over now that your father is dead?" Grandmother questioned. "After how she has scorned us?"

Lorenzo placed a hand on Isabella's shoulder. "Surely she has suffered enough? It's been three years!"

"Not while I'm alive," Grandmother slapped her son's hand. Isabella flinched.

Isabella felt the look of pity that he cast her.

"Where is my son?" Grandmother asked.

"He went out this morning," Isabella's mother spoke. She still stood by the window.

"He had a meeting this morning. Marco Bello's gone out to look for him," there was a touch of spite in his voice, from the earlier conversation.

Grandmother took a breath. "Missing dinner. His father's not been in the grave one day and he's already neglecting his family."

Isabella resisted the urge to speak against Grandmother. _So, my father missing dinner is neglect of the family while the abuse I've endured for the past three years is not?_

She knew that if she did, a cold, hard hand would meet her cheek.

Grandmother had gone to sleep, which meant Isabella now had free reign of the house. An added perk being she could now speak freely to her family. Her Grandmother was a heavy sleeper, unlike Grandfather, so she could maintain conversations.

She sat next to her mother on a bench facing the window. The two peered outside, waiting for Cosimo.

"Do you think Father will treat me the same as Grandfather?" Isabella asked. She knew the answer was no, but a sinking feeling in her stomach told her to ask.

Isabella saw that her mother was taken aback in the reflection of the window. "I… Isabella, of course not! He loves you. Your Father would never do such things." Her mother took her hand. "You know how opposed he was to your grandfather."

Isabella took a breath. "But I've done so much to this family. I've-"

"None of those things are your fault. You thought you being right and you were. Your grandfather forced you into some of those positions."

"What about the others? The vow I made?"

Her mother turned back to the window. "That's between you and the Lord. Nobody can oppose that."

Isabella felt uncomfortable. "You still don't like the fact that made that vow?"

"I wish I could understand it," her mother said, almost a whisper.

Isabella and her mother sat in silence. Isabella contemplated for a moment to let her mother know why she took the vow of Perpetual Virginity. The truth could lead her to her death. The two people who knew already were too many. Marco Bello and Ormanno dell Albizzi. Isabella knew that Marco Bello would take the truth to his grave, but Isabella hadn't spoken to her ex-fiancé for years. She wasn't dead yet- a sign he had kept his promise.

A familiar figure on horseback trotted down the road toward the estate. Isabella was faster than her mother to reach the door. Letting her father in would give her a breath of fresh air. The obelisk of a door creaked open and Isabella held it for her father. As he guided his horse past, he stopped for a moment to kiss her brow.

She grinned at her father's back before she shut the door.

Her parents were quick to meet- well, her mother ran to her father. She could hear her mother interrogating her father. "Cosimo, where have you been? We've been worried sick!"

Their bedroom door slammed shut and Isabella was left in the entryway.

Isabella scaled the steps of the house to go upstairs to her room. It was late and she had a new book that her brother had given her waiting. Her bare feet made no noise on the stone floor, a trick she had learned after her three years of captivity. Shoes create noise, noise creates a disturbance, a disturbance creates anger in certain family members.

Her door was already open. She carefully walked in to find Marco Bello sitting on her windowsill. Before Isabella could say a word, Marco held out an apple. "You barely ate at dinner."

He was correct and Isabella took the fruit from his hand. "You weren't even here. You were looking for my father."

"I don't have to be here to know that your grandmother scared your appetite from you," Marco turned to face her. His hair was wet from the rain and stuck to his forehead. "Are you okay?"

"I've been better," Isabella took a bite from her apple.

"Is it your father?" Marco asked. God, he knew her well.

There was moment of silence.

"He asked me if I killed my grandfather- or at least thought about it."

 _Isabella swallowed. It was a sin to lie, but it was also a sin to wish death on another human being. She had never lied to her father, and he would know if she did._

 _"I… I… I would be lying if I said no," Isabella felt the guilt rise up in her chest. She stared at her bare feet and struggled to not let tears swell in her eyes. "You have to understand, I-"_

 _"You don't have to explain yourself," Cosimo cut her off. "You are human. It would be a miracle if you didn't." Isabella looked up at her father's mournful face. His jaw tightened, "...considering how he treated you."_

 _"Then.." Isabella's brow furrowed. "What do you want to know?"_

 _Cosimo took Isabella's petite hand in his. His hands were soft, from never working in fields but instead in a bank. Isabella's were rough and calloused- strange for a girl of her standing. "Where were you the day your grandfather died?"_

 _"Here. At the estate. Just as I have been for the last year and a half. Marco can confirm it."_

 _Cosimo nodded. "Have you been in contact with anyone from outside the estate? People who would know of how…" he couldn't complete the sentence._

 _Isabella's heart skipped a beat. She had to lie. She could not reaffirm Cosimo's hatred for them- even if they did kill Grandfather. "No."_

 _Cosimo studied her for a moment. "Good," he said. "I also have one other thing." He reached in a desk drawer and procured something wrapped in cloth. He sat back in front of Isabella and gently placed it in her hands._

 _Isabella gently uncovered the item. Sitting on her lap, stark against the white lenin, was a brooch. The Medici seal, five white pearls and blue stone stood against a dark red background inlaid in gold. Not an exact reproduction, but obviously her father had it created to suit her, not the entire family. Isabella gently picked it up to inspect it._

 _"Careful," Cosimo wrapped his hands around her's. "The pin itself is sharp enough to do real damage and pain." He grinned. "Which is precisely what I got it for. I know you don't like having things just for their beauty."_

 _"Oh, Father," Isabella could feel tears begin to drip down her cheeks. This was a symbol. A symbol of her readmittance back into the family. A symbol of acceptance. A symbol of apology from her father for how she had been treated. "I love it. Thank you."_

 _Cosimo cradled his daughter's face in his hands. "I promise you, you will never, ever be captive in your own home again. And you will never live in fear of anyone." He placed a kiss on her brow._

 _Even though he told her otherwise, Isabella's stomach sank as she remembered that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree- time can only tell if a tree will grow in its place._

Marco inspected the brooch. "Your father chose well."

Isabella swallowed a bite of her apple. "He did."

"And you are allowed to come and go as you please?"

"Yes."

Marco nodded. "He is doing well- making up for you grandfather," he said. "Are your wounds healing?"

Isabella began to undo her dress and let it fall to her hips to expose her torso. Up the side of her stomach from her navel to her breast was the last physical memory of her grandfather- but not the worst. The burn was hot to the touch and pain radiated throughout her body. Marco was the only person in the house who actually knew the extent of her injuries from her grandfather. Most of the household assumed that it was slaps or punches- anything visible. Marco knew the truth.

He bent down next to her chair and gently brushed his fingers against the burn. His cold, wet hands felt soothing at first, but the pressure cause Isabella to yelp and see the room spin. Even after four days the burn felt just as raw as when it occurred.

Marco let out a familiar heavy sigh. "I will be back with ointment and wine." He stood and Isabella listened to his footsteps recede down the hallway.

Isabella pulled a blanket around herself and let her dress drop to the floor. Nudity was no issue in the Medici household. At least every person had seen each other naked. Isabella used to go to the Roman baths with Lucrezia and her mother all of the time. Too many times had Isabella walked into her uncle's room to find him asleep, naked, and hungover. Since Piro and Isabella were siblings it was almost required that they grew up taking baths together and actually sharing a room. Even the house was decorated with nudity- painted on the walls and in sculpture. Even since Marco had began tending to her wounds, Isabella's bare skin was nothing new to him. If anything, if made him stressed and angry seeing all of her scars and bruises.

Isabella curled up on her bed and bit her lip as she struggled not to cry out due to pain. The blankets were gentler than her dress, but the pain was still present.

Marco reentered the holding a jar in one hand and glass in the other. He handed the wine to Isabella first. Isabella knew the routine: drink wine, dull her senses, and pray to God that she could bear the agony. Isabella tasted the extremely dry wine (probably from her uncle's stash) slip down her throat. She felt groggy.

Marco gently pressed the cool ointment into her wound, hyper aware of the pain he was causing. Isabella bit her pillow to try to stifle her screams. She mostly succeeded.

"I'm so sorry," Marco said. He covered the jar and pulled the covers over Isabella. He bent down and put a kiss on her cheek while water dripped down from his hair. "Take solace in the fact that this will never happen to you again."


	3. Chapter 3

_Two Years Prior_

Isabella felt her breath escape her. No. How? She felt like Rinaldo's blue eyes were piercing her. Her breath hitched and struggled to procure words. "I... I don't understand."

He reached for his waist and pulled out a flask. "Here. Drink. It will help with the pain."

She cautiously took the worn leather flask and took a sip. The wine was extremely dry, and Isabella felt a slight fuzziness. She didn't drink wine much. The only time she did was when Marco Bello occasionally slipped her some when the pain of her injuries were too great. "My head," she mumbled.

"That was quite a dramatic fall," Rinaldo said. He took back the flask. He glanced inside it a moment and shook the container. His eyebrows raised. "I'm surprised you didn't break your neck."

"Huh?"

"You hit your head against a branch. Knocked you off your horse," he took a swig of wine. "I bet you're having trouble thinking right now. I see it on the battlefield," Rinaldo pointed to her with the flask. "Don't fall asleep. You may not wake up."

Isabella swallowed. "Why are you here?"

Rinaldo sighed and finished off the flask. He hooked it onto his belt, as if he was biding for time to gather his thoughts. "I know of what your grandfather does to you, ever since the marriage was broken. It's hard not to. You sit in your window all day reading or people watching. I see the bruises and the pain. I know how it feels, Isabella. I just happened to be leaving Florence at the same time as you and decided to follow."

Isabella stared for a moment. He had to be up to something. That was what she was breed to know- the Albizzis plot against the Medicis. "If you want anything from my family, I'm sorry. I've been scourged from their name."

Rinaldo furrowed his eyebrows. He was almost taken aback at the statement. "I'm quite aware of that. You really think I'm helping you because I want something from your family?"

Isabella's lower lip trembled and as the truth dawned on her. "You're... helping me simply because you can?"

Rinaldo slowly nodded. Isabella could feel tears forming in her eyes but she fought them back. Grandfather was only kind to her when he could get something from her. Her parents and Marco cared for her and helped her. (Marco mainly- her parents were banned from doing so.) Even then, Isabella felt they did so because they felt a sense of responsibility for her. But... Rinaldo degli Albizzi had no reason to help her and no responsibility.

"My father was like your grandfather. I can't bear to see a child suffer like I did. You did nothing to deserve the need to run away from your family."

Isabella shallowly took a breath. And another. She wasn't aware at first of the tears trickling down her cheeks or Rinaldo brushing back her hair and pulling her to his chest. Isabella began to heave in sobs. She felt so barren in front of her family's enemy but somehow it felt right. In Rinaldo's arms she felt the most comfort she had felt in years.

She burrowed into Rinaldo's cloak. Her sobs weren't loud, but instead were quiet gasps- another symptom of her isolation. "Thank you," she breathed. This couldn't be real. Any moment now she would wake up in her bedroom with the knowledge that the door to the outside was firmly locked. _Please God,_ she prayed, _please let this be real. Please let this finally be your answer to my prayers._

Rinaldo held her for some time on that forest floor. Isabella didn't want to let go of him. In the year before, Ormanno had told her about how loving and kind his father was, and not until now Isabella understood Ormanno's adoration.

"Please don't send me back," she held his cloak tight. The flow of tears had become lighter but it didn't stop the sinking emotions in her stomach.

Rinaldo stroked her hair. "I would never do such a thing. You are welcome to stay with my family."

Isabella thanked him again. She could never thank Rinaldo enough times for this kindness. Her enemy had become her savior.

Isabella was walking through her grandfather's vineyard. It was a sun warmed her face and her dark hair. Unlike most Florentine summer days, she didn't feel too hot in her dress and under a thick head of hair. The breeze kissed her skin and whispered gentle sweet nothings to her. Isabella's cat, Adam, followed her by weaving between the vines. His stripes created an illusion of the vines moving slowly, then faster- once a bug or mouse was spotted. If he fell behind, she would hear his quick pitter-patters to catch up and a small meow.

The animal wasn't technically her's. He came and went from the Medici estate, almost as if he was checking in on her. During her captivity, he'd squeeze through an air circulation tunnel and into her room. As she was curled up in a dark corner of the room with a blanket around her, he'd support himself on her knees and lick her tears away. His sweet, deep purr would be more comforting than anything else in the room and lull her into a peaceful sleep. However, every time she'd wake up he'd be gone-as if he was nothing more than a dream.

"Isabella."

The girl turned and a cold wind ran through her hair as she recognized the speaker. Her grandfather leaned on a post. He plucked a grape off of the vine and inspected it. "My vineyard is perfect, is it not?"

Isabella was frozen. Adam hid under her skirts from Grandfather. "Yes. Yes it is."

He stepped forward, weighing the grape in his hands. "I think of the Medici legacy like this vineyard. Each vine must be properly cared for and watered. By doing so, most vines come emerge healthy and proud. However," he was closer to Isabella now. "Sometimes there is a vine that fails the entire vineyard. Simply by seeing that vine, it creates the illusion that the entire vineyard is terrible despite otherwise."

Isabella felt his hot breath on her face. Her heart raced. She could run, but it would mean punishment. Even though she was familiar with this fear, it caused the blood to rush through her veins and breath hitch.

"To help the entire vineyard," he said. "That one vine must be eradicated."

Her grandfather grabbed her hand and pressed the grape into the palm. The fruit was wet, painted. Isabella looked down and saw that the grape was pristine, the best of the best. The smell of wine was heavy another scent. Isabella didn't dare guess the other.

"Now," her grandfather said. "Don't insult me by not tasting a grape from your family's vineyard."

Isabella took a breath, expecting it to be her last, and popped the fruit in her mouth. Just as she swallowed, the world began to spin. She grasped at anything to stop her descent to the ground, but the vines slipped out of her grip. Adam yowled and batted at her hand to try to get her stand. Isabella coughed and felt her throat begin to tighten. This was it.

Her grandfather was nowhere to be seen, but a familiar face of concern appeared above her's.

"I am so sorry," her father pulled her limp and dying body into his arms. With a shaking hand he brushed stray locks of hair out of her face. "Lord please forgive me."

Isabella grasped her father's hand. "Why... why... didn't you stop him?"

Her father's hot tears slipped down onto her cheeks. She didn't want to go. Not yet. Not without her Last Rites.

Isabella awoke curled up on the floor of her bedroom. Boards were nailed over the windows and only a candle to offer light. Her Bible and rosary laid next to her candle, offering the only hope in the room. Isabella crawled toward the objects and collapsed, bowing, with her rosary intertwined in her fingers. She began to recite the only verse her racing heart could muster. If she was going to be trapped in a nightmare, the least she could do was offer her soul protection.

"The Lord is my shephard; I shall not want. He maketh me lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his namesake. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death, I will fear no evil."

Tears dropped onto her Bible as she struggled to calm herself. "I will fear no evil. I will fear no evil. I will fear no evil. I will fear no evil."

"Good luck with that one."

Isabella's shaking hands held the rosary tighter. She didn't dare look up.

"Isabella, always so pious," the familiar voice said. "You can get protection from Him in the mortal and spiritual world, but not in your own mind."

The temperature in the room dropped. Isabella could feel her breath. The candle was no longer warming her. The only sense of warmth was the wooden rosary in her hand.

"And may I ask the mighty virgin why she forgives and loves so easily? You wouldn't suffer the way you do if it wasn't for Him," A sweet, warm liquid spilled from between her palms. Isabella did her best to keep her grip on the rosary. The blood was a sign of His protection- not abandonment. "And how do you forgive your Grandfather and the rest of your family? While you were beaten they offered no support."

"Because you hold them in captivity," Isabella spat.

 _I should not have done that._ She knew the rules. By interacting with them, they receive physical grounding.

A cold hand pulled Isabella up off the ground and the rosary slipped out of her hand. The wooden beads clattered on the floor. Isabella groaned and struggled against the icy grip and could feel her blood slowly turn cold. Isabella kept her eyes firmly shut. She was not going to stare Evil in the face.

"I hold them for their own good, Isabella. You should know the meaning of that. Hasn't it been beaten into you?"

There was a hiss in her ear. There was no longer a hand around her throat, but instead a snake. It began to coil itself tighter, tighter around her neck.

The candle went out.

Isabella's scream permeated the household and bounced off of the stone walls. Every single person who had ever spent more than a month in the estate knew exactly who had screamed and why. Most rolled over and fell back asleep, but Cosimo threw the covers off of the bed and struggled into some pants as fast as possible.

"Cosimo..." Contessina started. She pulled one of the blankets around herself.

"I know, I know," Cosimo said. "But even if it is a bad dream, it's still real enough for her to be scared." Cosimo leaned across the bed and kissed his wife. "She needs her father."

Contessina brows furrowed as she watched. Their daughter waking in fits of terror was common. Since her grandfather died, it was expected that the night terrors would stop. This, this was different. There was something to be feared from this scream. Something was different. Even though it was just a dream, Contessina somehow knew that her daughter was experiencing something entirely different than Giovanni de Medici.

Marco had beaten Cosimo to Isabella's side. It was his job, of course, to rush to the aid of any Medici in danger. Marco was down on one knee next to bed and quietly whispering to Isabella. Cosimo caught some of his words. "He's not here. He's dead. I promise you, he's dead."

Cosimo sat on the bed and pulled his daughter close to him. He nodded to Marco, giving permission for the man to leave. Marco stood, almost reluctantly, and left the room.

"Shhh... You're safe. I'm here. I'm here. Nothing is going to hurt you."

She sobbed into her father's shirt and held onto the fabric tightly. Isabella could still feel the icy scales of a fallen angel wrapping around her neck, the sickly sweet blood running through her fingers, and the fear that permeated every part of her body and soul. She knew that her father could not protect her from such things, but pressing her face into his chest and the sensation of his strong arms holding her tight granted her comfort.

Cosimo stroked Isabella's curls. His daughter was too young to have grey hairs mixed with her deep brown or to be this troubled. "What was it this time?" he spoke softly.

Between shaking gasps Isabella debated whether or not she should tell her father of her dream. Her grandfather poisoning her, her father himself holding Isabella as she died, praying, the blood, and the appearance of the Devil.

"I was dying, choking on a poisoned grape," Isabella felt her father tense up. "And-"

"Where were you?" Cosimo asked, his voice was fresh with a new wave of concern.

Isabella felt confused, or just light headed. "I-I was in Grandfather's vineyard."

A pregnant pause fell between the two. Cosimo reached over to Isabella's bedside table and poured a glass of wine. "Here," as Isabella took the cup from him she knew whatever she had said had stressed him greatly. She sipped.

"What anyone else there?"

"Yes."

Cosimo took the cup from her and held her hands in his. "Who? Was it Albizzi?"

Isabella slowly shook her head. "No," the smell of roses entered the air. "It was the Devil."

She swallowed and waited for her Father's reaction. Isabella watched a sundry of emotions cross his face. Confusion. Anxiety. Fear. Before he could settle on one, Cosimo pulled his hands from Isabella's in a swift, sudden movement.

"What is it?" Isabella asked.

Her father did not need to answer the question. Blood covered his hands. Blood that was not his. Isabella recognized the warm liquid that was drizzling through her fingers. She fearfully glanced down and saw exactly what she had expected. In the middle of her palms were two clear holes, oozing blood with the scent of roses.

The stigmata was no longer confined to her dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

_Two Years Prior_

Isabella wrapped her hands around Rinaldo's chest. Her cheek was pressed against his back and she could hear a comforting heartbeat through his cloak. Rinaldo was taking her farther and farther away from Florence, to Arezzo. Arezzo was situated to the south of Florence, so the pair had to retrace their steps. Rinaldo had ordered her to put her cowl up, for a passerby's recognition could mean Isabella's return to Florence.

Isabella never spoke, but instead fell in and out sleep. Every so often, Rinaldo would jostle her slightly to wake her. He had made it clear that men with such head injuries sometimes went to sleep and never woke. It was hard for Isabella to remain awake. Sleep would dull the pain, the steady pace of the horse was relaxing, and she was exhausted after being on the run for almost two days straight.

Every once in awhile, a horse for cart would pass and Isabella's grip on Rinaldo would become tighter. Her breathing would quicken and Rinaldo would quietly shush her in order to not raise suspicions. The passerby would say, "Morning, Messer Albizzi!" Rinaldo would nod silently. There would be a small pause that would cause Isabella's heart to race, but it would pass.

Three hours passed. Arezzo was within eyesight. Isabella could catch glimpses of it when her cowl would occasionally fall away.

Rinaldo broke the silence. "What will happen if you return?"

Isabella's grip around his chest tightened. "I'd probably be locked away for a month or two. Get a couple bruises. My grandfather will order everyone not to associate with me. My mother disobeyed that once and my grandfather locked her in her room for a week. Since then many of them haven't spoken against him."

"That's… terrible."

"I'd rather be locked away then be in a room with my grandfather," Isabella said bluntly.

Rinaldo was silent. Isabella could almost sense the rage coursing through the man's veins. She knew the past few hours had secured the Albizzis' hate for the Medici name. Isabella hoped so. Her grandfather had made her hate her name with a burning passion. If she could change her name without marrying, she would have done it long ago.

The city walls of Arezzo emerged. "Put your cowl back up," Rinaldo ordered. Isabella complied. She was acutely aware of the amount of people in Arezzo who still pledged their loyalty to the Medici as traders and merchants.

She pressed her head into Rinaldo's back and made sure her entire body was obscured by her monochrome cloak. Any cloth or belt that was seen could be recognized as wealth. Not suspicious when traveling with a noble, suspicious when one had her face covered.

The city gates opened to allow Rinaldo in. Isabella still remembered the way to the Albizzi estate from her engagement. They lived near the city center, same as the Medici.

The familiar creak of the Albizzi wooden doors calmed Isabella. The thud of them closing behind her meant she was finally safe.

Rinaldo dismounted and then held a hand out for Isabella. "Alessandra!" he called for his wife.

The familiar figure ran into the courtyard. "Rinaldo, what is- oh my God."

Alessandra gasped as the cowl fell to Isabella's shoulders. She was very different image than what Alessandra was used to. Isabella's pristine beauty from a year prior had been replaced with unkempt hair, a busted and slightly bleeding lip, a black eye, hollow cheeks, and a large bruise on her forehead. The other injuries remained hidden by her cloaks. Isabella didn't meet the mother's stare- she felt ashamed of being so undone in front of Alessandra.

"May her run her a bath and fetch her some clean clothes?" Rinaldo asked. Alessandra nodded quickly and ran in an opposite direction with a maid following closely behind.

Rinaldo gestured toward the kitchen, "Let's get you some food."

Isabella trailed after him into the kitchen. Many of the servants casts her looks of bewilderment. She avoided their gaze.

"Sit," Rinaldo ordered, pointing to a chair.

Isabella did so and gripped her shaking hands together- a mixture of anxiety and hunger. Every fiber in her body screamed that this was wrong. Should her grandfather discover that she spent even a second at the home of the Albizzi -she'll be ruined. The worse thought was how it would impact her father. He'd be disappointed, but understanding. She could not return to Florence. Isabella knew it was a fact. Give it a few months and her family will proclaim her dead. She shuddered at the thought.

A plate of bread, cheese, meat, and fruit was placed in front of her. Rinaldo poured a cup of wine. "You're welcome in my house for as long as you need asylum."

"Thank you," she said. "I don't know how to repay you."

"You don't have to," Rinaldo said. "Even if you did not marry Ormanno I still consider a daughter."

Isabella nodded with wide eyes. She wanted to cry from joy, scream from pain and guilt, and pray to the Lord for her safety, but she was far too malnourished to do any of the following. All the energy she could muster went into drinking wine and the food in front of her.

A maid entered the kitchen. "Madonna Alessandra is ready for you."

Isabella stood, nodded to Rinaldo, and followed the maid. In a few rooms over, Alessandra poured a steaming pot of water into a large basin. Hot enough to warm the bones, but cool enough to not scald. On the table next to her was Castile soap, antiseptic, turmeric, and honey sat in their familiar places. Alessandra used each of the ingredients to care for Ormanno and Rinaldo when they returned from battle. "Undress," she ordered Isabella.

Isabella complied and dropped her cloak to the floor. She struggled with unlacing the back of her dress. Everytime she reached around to her back pain shot up her back and into her arms. The maid gently began to pull the lace out of its notches. Even though the movement was gentler, Isabella still bit her cheek to hold in a cry.

Her dress dropped to the floor and Isabella stepped forward to the bath, ignoring the gasps from both Alessandra and the maid. She was far too preoccupied with the thought of a warm bath to soothe her aching bones. "Who did this to you?"

"My grandfather," Isabella answered Alessandra candidly.

Isabella could feel the stares from both Alessandra and the maid. The mother sighed and began to rub some of the Castile soap into her hands. Her touch was gentle, like Isabella's own mother,and she knew how to navigate the wounds and bruises without causing the utmost pain to Isabella. Time passed with many cries and grunts from Isabella as she gripped the edges of the tub. She'd squeeze her eyes and grit her teeth until she saw dots. It was mainly the antiseptic that was causing her pain- along with the fact that Alessandra ensure that, no matter how deep, the wound needed to be clean. Then, Alessandra would take a thin needle and thread and stitch Isabella together like one of her childhood dolls.

"Mother, is it true that-" the door burst open and Ormanno stopped out of shock so fast that he nearly tumbled into the tub with Isabella. "...that Isabella is here…"

Isabella caught his eyes that were attempting to look at anything but her naked body. "Hello, Ormanno."

Her ex-fiance's face fell as he took in her wounds that his mother was cleaning. Ormanno bent down to his knees so that he was eye level with Isabella. "What happened?" he breathed.

"You know my grandfather's temper, Ormanno."

"How long?"

Isabella cried out for a moment and felt a familiar hand grasp her's. "Since the vow- ahhh!"

Ormanno held Isabella's weak hand up to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles. "I'll kill him."

* * *

"Isabella," her father chided as she trailed behind him. "You shouldn't be here. This is no place for a lady."

Isabella's green eyes gazed across the mill which was full of injured soldiers. The hem of her skirt was dipped with blood and filthy water. She did not feel sick or unsteady unlike Ugo who paled against his dark banker uniform.

"I see more blood than you on a regular basis, Father." She remarked.

Isabella saw the corners of his mouth upturn, but he did not say anything.

Even though Isabella was used to blood, wounds, bruises, and more the sound of wailing men sent shivers down her spine. She was used to the wool mill being a place of peace and a symbol of prosperity for the Medici. Since the war all production in Florence had come to a grinding halt. The Pope was fearful to send his tithes to the bank. The war was killing Florence.

"How long have these men been here?"

"Since last week," Ugo answered.

"We can provide shelter but the mill must keep spinning."

"There's no wool to spin," Ugo said. Isabella saw the familiar stance of stress that her father held. "The English ships won't deliver, not as long as the war drags on."

"Our obligations cannot be met without revenue," Cosimo said.

"Father," Isabella started, "We can't even send the Pope's tithes to Rome. People are becoming desperate. The war must end, but if it ends now we will lose."

Cosimo took Isabella's hand while she stared into the water. "Albizzi is outmatched."

"Unfortunately."

Around the edge of the mill, Isabella spotted a familiar rider on a white and speckled horse. Her heart beat faster as a piece of parchment slipped down her sleeve and into her palm behind her back. Over the years, Isabella and the Albizzi had devised a way to convey messages without being caught. There were gaps of course, when she was locked away. While Ugo and Cosimo were distracted with the oncoming Rinaldo that a hand quickly, but quietly, took the parchment out of her palm. Neither of the men noticed.

"I see you have returned for the meeting of the Signoria," Cosimo said curtly.

"I have indeed," Rinaldo ran his hand through his hair that was covered with blood, dirt and sweat. "In order to win we require greater resources."

Her father gestured to their surroundings. "As you can see we are providing as much as we can."

"Not quite," Rinaldo said.

"Messer, a message from the front," a man held Isabella's parchment up to Rinaldo. He snatched the parchment out of the messenger's hand, obviously recognizing the rose Isabella had drawn on the front- as she does with all her letters to the Albizzi.

"I must be going," Rinaldo tucked the letter into his cloak. "Isabella," he nodded

The three watched the Albizzi disappear into the crowd. "He wants more funds," Cosimo muttered under his breath.

"Money is how you win a war," Isabella said. She didn't wait for a reply and mounted her horse. "I'm going to the church. I owe a visit."

Cosimo opened his mouth to say something, but it was lost as Isabella galloped away.

She placed a cowl over her brown curls. Isabella was not in the mood for being recognized by citizen- if they could.

The church was on the outside of Florence. It was hidden away in a small valley shrouded by large trees. It was her favorite church. She did not like the large churches that she attended with her family for mass. The church was connected to a monastery, so the monks were always too preoccupied with the Lord or studies to pay attention to the Medici. The only time they would regard her would be for faith related conversations. It was quite literally a sanctuary away from her family, the city, and the legacy of the Medici.

She tied her horse to a tree in the garden. The smell of roses wafted through the air- very different from the grunge of Florence.

"Father," she approached a monk. "Are you nursing the injured here?"

The monk seemed taken aback by her forwardness. "Uh, yes, Madonna Medici. They are in the monastery. I can show you if you want." Isabella nodded.

She followed the monk through a labyrinth of corridors illuminated by candles were the sun could not reach. The hallways were cramped. "Here," the monk gestured to the Great Hall. "The majority of them are in this room."

"Thank you, Father."

"God be with you."

Isabella knew the monk was sincere in his words. The great hall was heavy with the scent of decaying flesh and death- so much that Isabella had to pull a portion of her cowl in front of her mouth and nose. Laid side to side was men- reduced to their most childlike states. Some cried and others screamed. Even with the sunlight casting in through stained glass, the Great Hall was a scene out of Hell.

"Madonna…"

Isabella felt a tug on her cloak. At her feet was a man, no older than Ormanno or herself. Possibly younger. His muddied blond hair was clumped with dirt and blood. A dark red liquid stemmed from the corner of his mouth. Through the pain in his face, Isabella saw two dark blue eyes that had seen images worse than the Devil himself. She bent down and took his weak hand in her bandaged one.

"Yes?"

"Are you an angel?"

Isabella felt a blush rise in her cheeks.

"No, I am not."

He furrowed his brows. "You have the anger of Saint Michael in your eyes."

Isabella felt her body go cold. "What is your name?"

"Simone," he said. "Please stay with me. I don't want to die alone."

Isabella hesitated. Staying with Simone and praying with him until he dies would be the right thing to do, but if someone recognized Isabella next to a dying man her father would not be exactly excited about it- given her history.

"I will."

"Oh God bless you, Madonna…?"

"Isabella."

"God bless you, Madonna Isabella. Not that he cares much about us humans, anyways."

She knelt and held the Simone's hand tighter. He seemed to regret the statement almost instantly. Simone bit his already bloodied lip and cast his gaze to the side- down the Great Hall to the stained glass depicting the Messiah himself.

"Why do say that, Simone?" Isabella's voice was no more than a whisper.

His eyes seemed to glaze over. "There is no God on the battlefield. I saw too many of the men- no- boys I rode and played with in my childhood be slaughtered over disputes between rich and powerful men we did not choose. There is no God in the act of wading through thousands of bodies and reducing souls to numbers. There is no God in the echoing clash of swords. There is no God in taking a boy's life from his mother. There is no God in setting ablaze the only source of food for an entire village. There is no God, Madonna Isabella. We only have God to comfort us while we die, like now."

"I am sorry," Isabella could not help but feel guilty. Her family was one of the upper class reasons this war was stretching on for so long. Why so many lives were being taken. "But believe me, war is for men, but your courage on the battlefield is for God. No man nor sight can take your courage or your faith."

Isabella leaned forward. "Simone, if you even have the smallest bit of faith, you need to give into it. I do not trust for you to be alive tomorrow. If you stay like this, I cannot say Minos will treat you fair."

He chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. Simone then, with a quivering hand, held up a crude wooden rosary. "May you say my Last Rites, Madonna?"

She took a deep breath and nodded.

* * *

Isabella entered the sanctuary and found that the smell of the dead was replaced with incense.

She steadied herself on a pew to shake off the Great Hall and noticed Rinaldo sitting near the front of the sanctuary. Isabella walked to the front, careful not to disturb him if he was praying. Instead he was looking down at her letter.

"Rinaldo," she said.

He stood. The two looked each other over. Rinaldo still wore his uniform from the front, but he seemed to have gained enough sense to wash off his face and hands before entering the church.

Isabella wrapped her arms around him before he could say a word, ignoring the dirt and blood. The embrace was comforting. The most comfort she had in a long time. Rinaldo kissed her hairline. "You're stronger," he noted.

Isabella's laugh was muffled by his cloak. She looked up (not as much as she used to, she was almost his height now) "I've been working on it."

Rinaldo's expression turned serious. "You wrote that your grandfather is murdered?"

"Yes, Marco found that the grapevine was poisoned," Isabella lowered her voice. "My father ordered an autopsy to confirm. Di Cecco died a few days ago. I worry the two are related."

Rinaldo sat down on the pew. "One would have to be naïve to not consider that."

"He suspects you," she sat next to him. "My father does not believe it could be anyone else. He is searching for ways to destroy the Albizzi."

"If he did order Di Cecco to be killed, he needs to be brought before the Signoria."

"And testify with what? The Signoria will not take my words to heart- even if I am allowed in the room. Not to mention how your family and I may be dragged under the weight," Isabella held her rosary tighter. "And besides, it will take focus off of the war."

"Then why do you tell me?"

"Because at some point my father will have all of the members of Signoria against you. It won't be pretty, especially if he believes you killed my grandfather. You will need this against him," Isabella passed him a sheet of parchment. "That is the letter from Di Cecco confirming the autopsy."

Rinaldo reviewed it. "You are fine with me condemning your father?"

"Indifferent is better word," Isabella said. She changed subjects. Marco would be searching for her if she spent too long away from the Medici estate. Cosimo may have granted her freedom- as long as it was within his sight. "How is the front?"

"Diseased, bloody, and dying."

Isabella nodded and shivered with the memory of Gabriel then turned to Rinaldo. "The war has been situated in valleys, correct?"

His eyebrows furrowed. "Yes. What have you planned?"

"Roman aqueducts run parallel to valleys in the hills. They're underground and many of them still carry water. If you are able to lure the Milanese to Mugello valley and place them on a slope between the aqueduct and the Sieve River, you will have an exceptional advantage," On Isabella's lap she had created a small map with her rosary. "By opening the aqueduct at the correct time the Milanese will be washed into the river, waiting for you to open volley. And if you strike soon, the mud will pull them down. Your loss of soldiers will be at a minimum."

"Incredible," Rinaldo grinned. "I forgot those aqueducts even existed."

"If you are coordinated enough you might be able to take out a good por-"

A familiar voice echoed through the monetary. "Is Isabella de Medici here?"

"Marco," Isabella muttered. She heard the murmur of a reply from a monk. "I have to go."

Her heart began to race.

"Be safe," Rinaldo kissed her cheek. "My messenger is in Florence every other day."

Isabella nodded and stood. Marco was close- she could hear his footsteps. She slipped out the oak door. "Marco!"

"Isabella," he grabbed her hand and led her to her horse. "What have you been doing?"

"Praying."

"Where is your rosary?"

A wave of anxiety washed over the girl. She must have forgotten it with Rinaldo! "I forgot it at home." She prayed that Marco would believe the lie. The two knew that Isabella always kept her rosary within reach. It had become a comfort item for her. He appeared to accept it. "What's happened?"

A pause.

"Your sister's been poisoned."


	5. Chapter 5

Isabella wrung out another towel for Lucrezia. Her mother left to rest some time ago. Now it was just Isabella, an unconscious Lucrezia, and her brother. Piero sat on the opposite side of the bed holding his wife's hand. Isabella didn't acknowledge the prayers he was muttering under his breath.

In any other situation she would be holding her rosary, but she had left it behind at the church. The rosary had been a gift from the pope. He had visited the Medici household when Isabella was ten. Each family member had received a small gift for their contribution from the church. Mother a hairclip, Father a book, Piero a figurine of a knight, and Isabella a rosary. She didn't quite understand the meaning behind the gift then, but she would later learn that Pope had seen spiritual potential in Isabella.

Ever since her vow, she kept the rosary on her person at all times. A small reminder of her promise to the Lord and the church. The wooden beads had been rubbed smooth by Isabella's constant fidgeting.

Its absence did not go unnoticed as much as Isabella would have liked. Her mother chastised her for possibly losing it and had Isabella search the entire estate. Twice. The search ended with Isabella crying in her mother's arms in her room. Contessina eventually caved at the sight and promised Isabella a new one.

Since her father wasn't letting Isabella leaving the house, this time for her own safety, so she couldn't go back to the church and look for it. Isabella held little resentment toward her father for holding her inside. She was allowed to leave as long as she was with one of the men, but on her own it was forbidden.

"Piero..." Lucrezia murmured weakly. Isabella's brother leaned forward. She could see a mix of hope and sadness in his eyes. The sentence didn't continue. It was the mumbling of a sick woman.

The door opened. Piero and Isabella looked up. Their father stood in the doorway- his face expressionless. "How is she?"

"Not better nor worse," Isabella replied.

Their father nodded. "Isabella I need to speak to you."

She handed the towel to Piero, who cast her a look of confusion. What would their father request of her? She hadn't been bad; she hadn't left the estate- so what was it? Isabella stood and followed her father.

Instead of taking her to his office he instead brought her to Lorenzo's bedroom. God, she hoped her uncle was dressed.

Two men exited her uncle's room and Cosimo quickened his pace. "Those men? Who were they?"

"It doesn't concern you."

Both Isabella and her uncle knew immediately that he should not have said that. Cosimo stood in front of Isabella, almost as if he was protecting her. "Any strangers in my home at this moment concerns me."

A moment of silence passed between the three. Lorenzo's expression changed from stony to mournful. "I'm looking for her."

"Rosa?"

"I can't get her out of my mind, Cosimo. I loved her."

Isabella recalled seeing her uncle and the young woman. Any bystander could easily tell they were in love. She'd seen kisses exchanged between the two and heard much more. It was almost impossible for anything to go unnoticed under her watch. Isabella had probably noticed the couple before her grandfather.

She liked Rosa. Rosa was empathetic of her situation. She would hear Rosa begging her uncle to at least pay more attention to Isabella- and he did. Rosa would sit with Isabella in the estate garden and make flower crowns with her while reciting Bible verses. Lorenzo might have visited them, kissing Isabella on the forehead and Rosa on the lips.

At night, Isabella prayed for the couple's happiness. After a while, the prayers felt empty- like they couldn't do their job anymore. A total sense of dread had overcome Isabella. Her stomach had begun hurting worse than usual and each month she bled more and more. She didn't want to acknowledge them- but thoughts led her to believing it was related to her uncle's love.

"I don't care what anyone says, she wouldn't just disappear."

Isabella stared at the floor and remained quiet. It was not her place to say a word.

"It has been months Lorenzo."

"So you're telling me to just give up?" he inquired with an edge to his voice. "Like you did with that girl that you loved all those years ago?"

Her brows furrowed in confusion. She had never heard of any woman in her father's life before her mother. Isabella had always presumed that her parents had always been exclusive to each other. Never had she considered their lives before marriage.

"I would never presume to tell you what to do," Cosimo said.

Lorenzo cut the subject off. "What is it you want, brother?"

"If I am to act against Albizzi, I need allies."

"What kind of allies?"

"The kind one finds in Rome."

Isabella couldn't stop her gasp. "That's why you want me! You want uncle and I to persuade the Pope!"

"He does… favor you above others," Cosimo said. Isabella knew he didn't want to speak directly about her vow. "I want you two to prevail on him to sue for peace."

"I don't see why Albizzi would listen to the Pope," Lorenzo spoke bitterly.

"Albizzi is a holy man," Isabella said. She treaded carefully. "He will listen to whatever the Pope commands of him."

"And if he doesn't?" her uncle asked.

Her father thought for a moment. "The Pope has certain… spiritual tools at his disposal. "

Isabella's heart skipped a beat. Her father was implying that they were to convince the Pope to sue for peace with the threat of refusing Albizzi the Holy Communion. She knew it was dangerous, but perhaps she could find a way to speak to the Pope privately. "When shall we leave?"

"Before the sun sets," her father stood. Lorenzo and Isabella exchanged glances. "Your horses have already been prepared."

* * *

 _Two years prior_

A week had passed since Isabella had arrived at the Albizzi estate. Her wounds had began to heal and her figure had began to fill out. Rinaldo had made it clear she was free to leave at any time, but encouraged her to stay until she recovered- both physically and mentally.

Isabella hadn't seen much of Ormanno. He was avoiding her, she knew it. The small conversations that they had were awkward and filled with silences. She knew he was fuming with anger about what Grandfather had done to her and he seemed to take precautions with his words- as if he was afraid a sentence would break her. However, when she was practicing with her sword, she'd seen his eyes slip down to her chest. It was a hot summer, so she went bare underneath a blouse and none of the Albizzi seemed to mind. Servants cast her looks of disbelief, Rinaldo was amused and impressed at her confidence, Alessandra was more concerned about her hurting herself than her modesty, and Ormanno just watched.

Isabella knew somewhere in his mind he was imagining that they were married. They would be if it wasn't for the vow. Isabella loved Ormanno, just not the way a husband and wife would. Her feelings for him were complicated. If she _had_ to marry, she would marry Ormanno- but she couldn't now. Even though years had passed, Isabella was still in awe of how causal he was about the vow, how he didn't take it personally. One of the reasons had to be was that Ormanno was the first person Isabella consulted about the vow. Ormanno, being the romantic he is, climbed up one of the vines next to her window like a prince from a fairytail almost every night they were engaged.

On this particular early morning Isabella was practicing her balance. She may not have the brute force that most men do, but she could almost dance around them and take opportune stabs and swings.

The cool stone scraped her palms as she attempted to stand on her hands.

 _One._

 _Two._

 _Three._

 _Four._

"How do you manage to do that?"

The voice startled her and she tumbled.

 _Damnit._

Isabella brushed off her palms and cocked an eyebrow at Ormanno. "Practice."

"Could you teach me?"

She looked him up and down. Yes, Ormanno was a soldier, but he was trained in strength. He didn't quite have the build for flowing and dancing. "I could," Isabella said. "How well can you stretch?"

"Huh?"

As an example, Isabella quickly and skillfully lowered herself onto the ground in a complete split. She smirked and nodded to Ormanno.

Isabella didn't stifle her laugh as she watched Ormanno struggle with the stance. His grunts increased in pitch. He was only at the halfway point but his face was red with both pain and embarrassment. He must have felt strangely inferior to her.

"Not bad for a first try," Isabella commented. She hopped back into a standing position and held out a hand for Ormanno. "You should do some cat watching. They are good teachers."

Ormanno took her hand and she pulled him up. The old scars from her childhood bout of the plague rippled with her muscles. She never really cared about the scars on her body, for they would usually be covered. The scars up the side of her face and cheek caused her distress, but not for the fact that they obscured beauty- but because they were one more reason for her not be taken seriously.

"But actually," she said. "You don't need good flexibility to have balance. I just wanted to see if you could do that."

"Oh you…" he didn't finish the taunt, for Isabella grabbed his hands and twirled him around. She skillfully balanced on her toes while Ormanno stumbled. She stopped him abruptly and interlaced her fingers between his.

"Left foot."

"Sorry?'

"Stand on your left foot, lest I kick the right out from under you."

Confused, he obliged. As soon as he gained his balanced with Isabella's aid- she spun him around again.

"Left again."

Up went his left foot.

Another spin.

"Right foot."

His feet didn't receive the message and instead he lifted his left. Ormanno realized his mistake a moment too late. Isabella hooked his right ankle and pulled it out from under him. He collapsed and clung to Isabella, with his head situated between her breasts.

There was a small silence.

"Unless you plan to suckle my breasts like a babe I think you should move."

Ormanno's face flushed with embarrassment. He stood up straight. "Sorry," he stuttered.

 _Oh, you hopeless lover boy,_ Isabella thought. _If only you knew._

Isabella jumped away from him, with her fingers slightly interlaced between his. She was the lead. "Right foot," she said.

He lifted his right and managed to balance with minimal help from Isabella. "Don't let that foot touch the ground!" She spun Ormanno once again and watched as he pivoted on his foot. He was learning fast.

The dance continued until the pair was covered in sweat and couldn't focus on the floors or the walls. They collapsed laughing the nearby garden underneath an apple tree.

Ormanno rolled onto his side and offered Isabella a red apple. "For m'lady," he said, jesting.

"Thank you my good sir," Isabella took a bite out of the ripe fruit. "When will your father return from Florence?"

Ormanno's eyebrows furrowed. "I believe later tonight. He said he should be back before supper."

It was late in the morning.

Isabella closed her eyes and enjoyed the breeze against her freckles and scars. She opened them and found Ormanno staring at her with a silly grin on his face. "You're thinking about us married, aren't you?"

His face flushed but the grin remained. "Yes. Yes I am."

"Tell me about it."

"We would live on my family's estate with our children running around. Two boys and two girls. Two of them would be named after us and without a doubt you would name the others from epics or the Bible. Our eldest son would follow me to the Signoria to learn how to lead our Republic and become a soldier. I would come home to find you brushing our daughters' hair and singing lullabies in that beautiful voice of yours," he reached over and held her old engagement ring between his fingers. The simple gold band with a small pearl pressed into it, one that Ormanno had bought on the Ponte Vecchio and delivered to her in the middle of the night, still rested on her hand. Isabella couldn't bring herself to take the ring off. Ormanno took her hand and pulled Isabella closer to him. He leaned over and whispered into Isabella's ear, "And while the children are asleep we would work on making another."

"Ormanno!" She playfully pushed his shoulder.

"Am I wrong?"

"Of course not," Isabella propped herself on her elbows and gently caressed his lips with hers. Oh, how she missed this. How Ormanno brushed her curls behind her ear and her fingers caressed his stubbled chin. How safe she felt with him. How much she loved him.

Ormanno pulled away. "I don't understand," he whispered.

"Sorry?"

"I don't understand why you took the vow."

Isabella sat up to avoid his gaze. "I felt like it was the right thing to do. I wish with all of my heart that you and I are wed, but I felt like it wasn't what the Lord wanted me to do. Something told me that I was meant for more than to be a wife."

The last and unspoken reason, she withheld.

"So what do you do now?"

Isabella cast her gaze across the gardens. "I have no idea, but I am sure whatever happens is what the Lord wants."

Ormanno was silent for a moment. "You want to fight, don't you?"

"I wouldn't say no."

"Well," Ormanno held her hand up to look at her ring once more, "I can't say you are not prepared."

A silence passed between the two. Isabella curled up against Ormanno's chest and the two fell asleep.

* * *

Isabella pulled her cowl over her head. She had placed her hair in a braid, nothing annoyed her more than her hair flying into her face. Not to mention it would be rather embarrassing to approach God's representative with windswept hair.

She said goodbye to Piero, Lucrezia, and her mother upstairs. Lucrezia was still drifting in and out of sleep. Isabella was to fearful to admit to herself that it might have been the last time she saw her sister in law alive. Piero was still distraught, so she simply gave him a kiss on his head. Isabella had lit a candle next to the bed, a symbol of her ongoing prayer for the two.

Cosimo walked up to Lorenzo and Isabella just as the two mounted their horses. "Lorenzo," he held up a letter, "May you please deliver this to the Pope?"

Lorenzo opened the parchment and read it. Isabella felt like the letter had something to do about her, because as Lorenzo placed it in his saddlebag he glanced at her. "I will, brother."

Isabella dismounted and went to hug her father. She had no idea how long she and her uncle will be in Rome debating back and forth with the Pope. Behind her father she saw Marco leaning against a doorway- he respectively nodded. Cosimo kissed her cheek, "Be good," he whispered in her ear, "Listen to your uncle. Remember I love you."

"I love you too," she whispered back.

The two broke the embrace and Isabella climbed back onto the horse. Lorenzo nodded and the two galloped out of the estate. Darkness had already fallen on Florence and the pair's gallop echoed off of the stone walls. The wind whistling in Isabella's ears was reminiscent of her escape from the Medici estate two years before, with the lack of anxiety and fear.

Isabella's schiavona was strapped to her back, partially obscured by her cloak. Roads often fell under the jurisdiction of bandits and thieves, especially during the chaos of wartime. Anyone who attempted to attack the, seemingly petite, girl would be in for a rather powerful surprise. Isabella armed herself from experience also. She knew Lorenzo was actually the best at combat, even if he liked to boast that he was. Too many times Isabella had seen Lorenzo return to the estate bloodied from a drunken fight. Since sobriety was rare from Lorenzo when needed, Isabella felt it was best to only count on her abilities.

"State your business for leaving Florence,"

A guard blocked their way at the gate. It was relatively new installment- created to prevent distraught wives or mothers from running to the battlefield and from letting battle plans go to the Milanese. Even though this was the guard's singular duty, he didn't seem to care that much. He leaned against his sword with palatable disinterest. In the light of the torches, dark circles had made home under his eyes. Lorenzo and Isabella were just another obstacle to his sleep.

Nevertheless, Lorenzo passed down a small piece of parchment with Cosimo's handwriting. The guard read the words and his eyes seemed to grow larger with each word. He quickly gave the parchment back, "Of course, Messer Medici."

With a new urgency in his step, the guard hit the shins of his comrades to wake them. "Open the gate!" Several of the guards groaned in protest, but upon seeing the two Medici on horseback waiting, they moved to open the cast iron gate.

Once the gate was open, Isabella nodded politely to the men. Many of them were her own age and she saw one of them turn a deep red at being noticed by the Medici. She held back her chuckle and followed Lorenzo out of the city.

In the distance, the horizon was lit with the flames of war. Torches dotted the roads as soldiers went back and forth from their camps to the battlefields. Florentine vineyards were aflame at the hands of the Milanese in an effort to ruin the economy further.

Even if suing for peace came with a cost for the Albizzi, Isabella could only hope that the result would end the insurmountable suffering.


	6. Chapter 6

It was the second day of traveling for the pair. The usual one day trip had been extended to three days- counting the night they rode through. They would often come across a road to only find that it was another casualty of the war. Lorenzo would curse, pull on his reins, and turn back around. If it wasn't for the war and the overwhelming state of chaos, the two would cut through woods and farmland. However, those once reliable alternatives now gave way for robbers and rapists. Isabella had not expected for the war to reach this far south, but when trade is disrupted the rest of society falls like a half burnt timber.

Isabella attempted to enjoy some the views she had missed for several years. The Largo di Bolsena reflected the mesmerizing colors of God's palette in its clear waters. Even though Isabella felt relatively safe in a place where God's touch was evident, she felt uneasy. The clatter of soldiers was not far and the coastal villages of Bolsena had a reputation of being looted.

Lorenzo and Isabella had moved to one side of the road to make way for the injured soldiers returning to Florence. Some remained prideful and refused to yell out with each step, some groaned, some had lost their voices miles back, and some still at the strength to whistle or holler at the first female they had seen in weeks.

"Lookin' good, Madonna!" ,"Oh, rich girl, you're lookin' lovely!", "Give a wounded solider some loving, Madonna," Isabella ignored them for the most part. Every once in awhile she simply glare at them with fire in her green eyes- they would become silent immediately. Having her uncle beside her created a pleasant buffer.

The soldiers passed and at the tail end was Ormanno on his dark horse. He had a bandage around his arm- clearly fresh with blood seeping through the fabric. Isabella and Ormanno glanced at each other, but didn't spare a second look for Lorenzo was watching. He quickly hunched down, either from pain or respect.

The sound of the men faded into the valley.

"You still fancy him, don't you?" Her uncle spoke.

Isabella didn't have to look at Lorenzo to know that he was smirking. "I don't," she said curtly.

"Ah, both you and I know if you did, you wouldn't- can't admit it," Lorenzo said. "I get that you're a _child of God,_ but can't you ever loosen up? You're almost wound as tight as you father."

Isabella smiled. Ever since she was little, Lorenzo was one of the few people who didn't expect her to act civilly every waking hour. When she was 9 or so, Isabella got into a fight with her friend Joan and end up pushing her to the ground and breaking the girl's nose. She couldn't remember what the fight was over, but it escalated and her father and Marco Bello had to physically pull them apart. The two were covered in scratches and bruises to be banned from ever seeing each other again. After her father gave her a good talking to (along with a withholding of desert for a month), Lorenzo pulled her aside and complimented her on her strength.

"Well, I probably should be given that we are visiting _the Pope."_

"More of reason to relax." Lorenzo tossed Isabella a flask. She grinned and took a swig. The sweet wine flowed down her throat along with the strong, dry taste that Lorenzo favors.

She tossed it back. "Shall we find a inn? It's getting dark."

Lorenzo nodded. "We should make it to Rome by tomorrow morning if we stop soon. The inn up ahead should have lodging- unless its full of the wounded and dead." Isabella watched as his gloved hands tightened on his reins. She knew that her uncle wouldn't dare have her sleep outside. Trying to rest outside while traveling is a risk for those who don't mind never waking up. As a female, her chances of survival through the night would be little to none.

Isabella knew that lakeside villages were depressing. She knew that villages on the side of di Bolsena were especially depressing, but she was not expecting this. The village was desolate. War had taken a toll on the village. Women did their best to scrub fresh blood off of crumbling walls. Children did not run around nor play, instead they stood and stared at the girl on horseback. It was almost as if the experience of war had taken their childhoods away from them. Isabella's heart beat an empathetic tone for their vacant stares.

The inn sat near the center of the village. Surprisingly, it was not overrun with soldiers or the dead. Isabella took a moment to tie her horse to the side of the building and looked down the street. Her instincts were telling her it was too quiet. Something had happened, or was expecting to happen, to lay a blanket of silence over the coastal village.

The inside of the inn was relatively crowded. A few stray men sat around tables conversing in hushed voices over ale and wine. It wasn't the rowdy drunkards Isabella was used to Florence, but men who watched their drink in order to stay sober enough should something alarm them. Heads turned at the sight of Isabella and Lorenzo. The pair was obviously the wealthiest in the room with their imported fabrics and cleanliness. Isabella cast her eyes to the floor while her uncle spoke to the innkeeper. She was acutely aware of why the men were staring at her. In each of their minds they were figuring how to get her alone or imagining what was under her cloaks. Unlike the monks and nun, perpetual virgins do not earn a symbol of their status to wear to cast off the very men who were sizing Isabella up.

She stepped closer to Lorenzo.

"Thank you, Messer," Lorenzo finished his conversation, scratched the Medici name into the guestbook with a quill, and slid a few coins across the wooden table.

Lorenzo and Isabella gathered their few things from the saddlebags of their horses. Isabella carried a small bag with a few changes of dresses (not exactly in the same pristine folds that the maid had packed them in), a Bible, a bound notebook, and the few valuables that she carried. She didn't exactly know what Lorenzo had packed, but in one of his saddlebags was a large stack of parchment. Isabella reckoned it was as many papers that her father and Ugo could gather to persuade the pope to sue for peace.

Once the two had safely stowed their belongings away in a room, the best way to kill time was to sit in the tavern. Lorenzo had made himself at home in a corner with a glass of wine and Isabella sat next to him sipping on some wine herself while reading her Bible. At the moment, she had settled on the story of Esther. One of the more calming books of the Old Testament.

Isabella read the Latin carefully. She was one of the lucky few people who could read Latin. Most of the upper class and clergy could. Her mother had trained both her and Peiro from a young age to speak and read Latin, Italian, and French. Their parents had always been amused at the pair. Lorenzo struggled to read Latin, yet could speak it at the same level as the clergy while Isabella was the opposite.

" _Ad quem illa respondit si inveni gratiam in oculis tuis o rex et si tibi placet dona mihi animam meam pro qua rogo et populum meum pro quo obsecro. Traditi enim sumus ego et populus meus ut conteramur iugulemur et pereamus atque utinam in servos et famulas venderemur esset tolerabile malum et gemens tacerem nunc autem hostis noster est cuius crudelitas redundat in regem,"_ Isabella muttered the text under her breath, the text in which Esther pleads with the King to save the Jews from persecution. Her fingertip gently moved across the script, careful not to smudge it.

"Well, well, well."

Both Isabella and Lorenzo jerked their heads toward the speaker. The owner of the voice was none other than Francesco Carmagnola, the right hand man to Duke Sforza of Milan. His dark, graying hair was stuck to his scalp with a mixture of sweat and blood, two liquids that dripped down onto the guestbook he was bent over.

"I would never guess to find a Medici near the Largo di Bolsena, let alone two!" his beady eyes scanned the tavern before setting on Isabella. "And the virgin herself, nonetheless."

Isabella pushed her Bible into her cloak and close to her heart. Now that Carmagnola had announced her status to the tavern, she was far more desirable than before. Lorenzo set down his glass and grabbed Isabella's forearm almost instinctively.

Carmagnola's steps echoed in the silence of the tavern as he sauntered to the Medici, "Now, before _the great_ Giovanni de Medici died most of my men were placing bets on when he'd send you to the slave market and how much you would cost," Carmagnola placed one foot on a stool next to the table, nearest to Isabella, and loomed over her. He looked up to the ceiling as if he was figuring the price of olive oil, not the girl in front of him. "Now let's see, the church has confirmed you as a virgin that's at least ten thousand florins right there. The Medici name has be worth at least 5,000 florins. However, most of my men," he turned back to Isabella, "forgot about those scars of yours. That's probably 2,000 florins off- but that can be made up for the fact that you're, um, how shall I say this, easily disposable?"

"Go to Hell, Carmagnola," Lorenzo hissed.

"To bad," he smirked. "I've already been."

Isabella remained quiet. She was surprised to find that she wasn't shaking, but instead falling back on what Marco had taught her. She looked him over to find the points of weaknesses, where he hid his weapons, wounds, and the same for the six of his men that had filed into the inn behind him. By the pitiful looks of a few of the patrons, she had some support if a fight was to break out. It would be hard however, with other men apparently ready to take any opportunity to separate her from her uncle. Along with the fact that she was placed in the back of the tavern, she would need to rely on a shock factor instead of actual brute force.

"Now," Carmagnola sat on his stool. Isabella could feel his putrid breath on her cheek. "Seeing as I just won a battle to maintain control of this area from Milan, I have the authority to ask you some questions."

Isabella wanted nothing more than to break his nose. By the tight grip Lorenzo unconsciously acquired on her forearm, he wanted nothing more than to kill Carmagnola. "Which would be?" Isabella asked, careful to keep her voice steady.

Carmagnola leaned in close. "What business does the Medici have in this territory?"

"We are meeting with the Pope to discuss tithes, which," there was a clear edge in Lorenzo's voice. "You are responsible for stopping."

"Oh, I apologize for this war meddling in your private affairs," Carmagnola gripped Isabella's chin and turned her toward him. "Maybe if the Medici weren't so reliant on _servitude,_ you would not be in this position. Do you ever realize that if the church falls, so will your business and your family will cast out on the street. You thrive so much on piety of others that you-"

Isabella had enough. Her blood was boiling. No matter how much she hated the Medici name that her grandfather founded, no man was going to simply saunter up to her and insult her entire family. The family that her father is the head of.

Her movement was quick and easier to achieve because of Carmagnola's close proximity to her. There was a small dagger hanging off of his belt- one of the many utilian items that men carried. Reaching toward her own dagger would create too much alarm but reaching for Carmagnola's would create mixed signals for the rest of the room.

Isabella gripped the bone handle and shoved the blade into the region closest to the belt swiftly and powerfully. Carmagnola halted mid sentence as he struggled to realized what had just happened. Then, just as all the blood rushed from his face the most unmanly scream escaped from his mouth, He fell to the ground and to cause more injury, Isabella pulled the dagger from his flesh.

With the warm blood flowing off of the blade and down her hand, Isabella stood on top of the table that she and Lorenzo occupied. She then held the said dagger aloft and announced, "If any man has a word against the Medici name he shall be expecting a castration in the name of charity!"

The only sound in the tavern was Carmagnola's whimpering as he laid on the floor. All of the men in stared at her with wide eyes. Well, except that of the innkeeper. He looked more annoyed that someone was stabbed in his tavern than anything else.

Isabella returned to the floor and bent down next to Carmagnola. Just as he did to her, she gripped his chin and turned him toward her. "Tell Sforza that Florence sends its regards," she said. "And I'm keeping the blade."

* * *

The doors to the Vatican were pushed open to reveal a glittering room. Isabella gasped. She had been surrounded by riches her entire life, but she had never seen rooms encrusted in gold and frescos as much as the Vatican.

"There's more," her uncle chuckled at her expression of awe.

Lorenzo hadn't said a word about the incident at the inn the night before. Isabella decided that it was because he simply didn't know how to react. Isabella didn't know what to think about it either. It had all happened so quick that she didn't even stop to think that she just _castrated the right hand to the Duke of Milan._ Lorenzo was most likely going to leave the reaction to her father when they return to Florence. Isabella wasn't sure how to prepare herself for returning to Florence, but for now she was going to enjoy the Vatican.

One of the cardinals, Cardinal Condulmerio, led them through the maze of halls to the gardens at which Pope Martin was relaxing. He stood and approached the pair. Isabella gracefully bowed her head and bent to kiss his hand as Lorenzo did the same.

"It has been a long time since the Medici have come to Rome," he said. "What is this urgent business of yours?"

Isabella remained quiet. Her part to play would come later.

"As you're aware, Your Holiness," Lorenzo spoke, "Florence is locked in a ruinous war with Milan."

"I am." An annoyed expression crossed the Pope's face. "That's why your bank has held back our tithes from the north."

"It wasn't safe to transport them."

"Was it?" The Pope nodded at Isabella. "Yet it was safe to transport young lady? One who holds a Vow?"

"She is here on separate business," Lorenzo spoke. Isabella could tell he was trying to keep his voice steady. "One that requires urgency."

The Pope held out his hand. "I am sure there is a letter from Cosimo accompanying her."

Lorenzo passed the same parchment from before to the Pope. The Pope opened it and began to read.

"Your Holiness," Lorenzo sighed. "The people of Florence are suffering."

Pope Martin quickly folded the letter and stored it in his robes. He paused a moment, as if he needed to pray to the Lord for strength. "What can I do?"

"Persuade Rinaldo delgi Albizzi to sue the Duke of Milan for peace."

"I can write a letter for you to carry back."

"Thank you, Your Holiness," Lorenzo cast his gaze across the gardens and took a breath. "But I am afraid I need more than a letter. There must be consequences if Albizzi fails to heed your suasion."

"Such as?" The Pope narrowed his eyes.

"Your Holiness… has many tools at his disposal. Spiritual tools."

Pope Martin turned his head to look Lorenzo up and down. He then looked at Isabella as if she held the answer to a question. "I will have to consider your proposal," he said. "In the meantime, make yourselves at home. You must be tired from such a long trip." He nodded to the page on the other side of the hall who opened the door to leave.

Both Isabella and Lorenzo bowed their heads politely and began to leave. As soon as they were out of earshot Isabella whispered, "That was a whole lot of nothing."

"Usually is," Lorenzo said. "Give it some time."

* * *

Isabella laid down on top of the covers in her guest room. She had always assumed that the Medici estate was the apex of luxury, but the Vatican was proving her wrong. The gold and silks were nice, but she failed to see how the expenditure of the church's tithes in this way benefited the Lord. If she actually held a position of power she would say something to the Pope but those who spoke against the establishment usually found themselves in unlikable situations.

She suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Isabella was not supposed to be surrounded with such riches- even as a Medici. A feather bed, silk blankets, fine wine, and gold walls do not reflect the Lord, but instead man.

Spurred by this thought, Isabella pulled the covers off her bed down to the sheet. She stripped the sheet off and placed it on the floor next to the bed. Isabella may have the opportunity to enjoy fine things, but she will not indulge. She remade the bed and sat on the floor with her back propped up against the side of the bed.

She then pulled her rosary out of her cloak and closed her eyes. Fingering each bead, she took a breath and thought a short prayer. Isabella needed a moment of meditation. A moment to gather her thoughts after meeting the Pope and _stabbing someone._

Isabella was not aware of how much time had passed, but when there was a knock upon the door the sun was lower in the sky and sight was more useful with candles.

"Madonna Medici, His Holiness would like to speak with you."

She stood and answered the door. The same cardinal from before waited outside the door. She found it odd that the Pope would send for her using Cardinal Condulmerio, yet something drew her to this cardinal. A soft, silver light seemed to cascade off of his shoulders as if he was the only true holy man in the Vatican.

"Thank you, Cardinal."

He nodded. "My apologizes for disrupting your meditation. Not many continue that practice here."

Isabella raised her eyebrows as she followed the Cardinal down the hallway. "Really?"

"Surprising, isn't it? The holiest place in the world is thinly veiled self servitude," the Cardinal spoke candidly.

"Do you still continue the practices, Cardinal?"

"I still consider myself a monk, so yes," he said. "And your life can be compared to one of a monk, if you were not a Medici."

"Unfortunately," Isabella gazed at the frescos. "A portion of my life has been forced into the monastic routine."

"So the rumors of your past grandfather are true?" The Cardinal asked. Isabella felt he was not coming from a place of gossip but one of concern.

"I would hazard a yes."

"My apologizes."

"Oh, no need to apologize, Cardinal Condulmerio," Isabella said. "If anything that life has made me closer to the Lord and understand the true purpose of my vow."

"Do you realize you are only the fourth person in the church's history to take the vow, Madonna Medici? Saint Thecla was the first and took the vow at the same age that you did. Following her was Saint Catherine and then Saint Fabiola. You are the first person to take the vow in almost a thousand years. The blood and spirit of the women who came before you flow through your veins."

Isabella felt overwhelmed. She had assumed that taking the Vow was as common as women becoming nuns. Never would she have thought that she would only the _fourth_ , next to such amazing women in church history a thousand years later.

She steadied herself against a wall for a moment. "Are you sure that I am only the fourth?"

"The Vow was considered an ancient practice until you requested it," Cardinal Condulmerio gently held her arm to keep her stable.

"I am sure," Isabella took a breath and continued walking. "That there are some who question the legitimacy of my vow."

"Many," the Cardinal said. "I suggest you find who does not believe, because I am sure they will become your enemies over time."

"I doubt you question the validity of my Vow."

"Of course not," he said. "I believe in order for such a vow to be brought from the dead," he stopped and gazed at Isabella. "One must have had divine intervention."

Isabella pulled her dress sleeves over her palms and said nothing.

"This is the papal study, Madonna Medici," the Cardinal lowered his voice, "I advise you to be careful with your words. Any sentence out of place can have a great effect on both your family and the city of Florence."

The girl nodded and respectfully bowed her head for the Cardinal. "May the Lord be with you."

"And also with you."


	7. Chapter 7

Isabella cautiously pushed the oak door open. The Papal Study, from what she knew, had been acting as an makeshift library for the church until the official one was finished being built. The room was expansive and decorated with frescos of the Old Testament. Rows of bookcases were filled with manuscripts from Constantinople, Paris, Cairo, and Jerusalem.

After being locked away for so long, Isabella's only comfort for a time was ink covered pages. She had learned to take comfort in them. The characters and their adventures removed her from a dark room and into fantasies of King Arthur and Odysseus. However, even the midst of numerous literary works, she couldn't help but feel uneasy.

"I understand you can read Latin."

Isabella turned from the bookshelf she was examining and immediately bowed at the sound of the Pope's voice. "Yes I can, Your Holiness."

"Please stand," he held out a hand for Isabella. "It's just us and the Lord. There is no need for that."

Isabella gently took the open palm and stood. Among the rows of books, Biblical characters staring down at her, and the Pope; Isabella couldn't help but feel miniscule. Perhaps that was the purpose of the study: to feel small in mortality.

Pope Martin led her to a table upon which a tome sat open. Upon it's pages colorful character danced among the script. "If you would be so kind to translate this passage for me."

Isabella bent closer to the page and the must mixed with mineral dyes wafted to her nose. She studied the eloquent script for a moment before reading.

It was Revelations.

 _"So he carried me away in the spirit into the wilderness: and I saw a woman sit upon a scarlet coloured beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns. And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus: and when I saw her, I wondered with great admiration... And the angel said unto me, Wherefore didst thou marvel? I will tell thee the mystery of the woman, and of the beast that carrieth her, which hath the seven heads and ten horns…"_

Isabella could feel her stomach tighten with anxiety as she continued with the passage. Pope Martin was trying to say something. Something about the letter that her father had sent.

" For her sins have reached unto heaven, and God hath remembered her iniquities. Reward her even as she rewarded you, and double unto her double according to her works: in the cup which she hath filled fill to her double. How much she hath glorified herself, and lived deliciously, so much torment and sorrow give her: for she saith in her heart, I sit a queen, and am no widow, and shall see no sorrow. Therefore shall her plagues come in one day, death, and mourning, and famine; and she shall be utterly burned with fire: for strong is the Lord God who judgeth her."

"You may stop there," Pope Martin said. "Now tell me, what happened to the woman later in the book? Surely someone of your status would know."

Isabella didn't look up but instead remained fixated on the illustration of the woman's fate in vivid colors. "Fire rained down on her from Heaven and she cast into Hell to burn for eternity."

"Correct," he said. "Now why was that?"

"Because she spoke blasphemy against the Lord and was proud for doing so."

The Pope nodded. "Give me your hand."

Isabella took a step forward and swallowed. She placed her shaking hand into the Pope's. He inspected it for moment, almost like a steak. "Your father," he started. "Wrote to me that you had received the stigmata after having a dream of the Devil and yet…" he let go of Isabella's hand. "I see nothing. Not even a scar."

"In all due respect, Your Holiness," Isabella's voice shook. "The stigmata is not a mortal wound."

"And yet it does not appear before me, the Pope," he took a step forward. Pope Martin was slightly taller than Isabella and it was emphasised with his bold stance over her. "Either you lie or I am not the Holy Father."

Isabella snatched her hand away from the Pope. "Sir," she said indignantly. "Are you implying that my father and I have committed blasphemy by falsely claiming stigmata to you?"

The Pope moved around the table. "Possibly. And like the woman who sits upon a beast from Revelations, you are proud of it."

"I am not proud, Your Holiness," she cried. "When the stigmata first to me in my dreams it would be so painful that I would wake. The pain would continue to ravish my body with no mortal wounds. I couldn't walk for days because the invisible nails that pierced my feet remained in reality. I couldn't close my hands to pray because agony would crawl up my arms at any movement," she moved toward the Pope and felt herself stand taller despite the tears pricking her eyes. "I am not proud of the stigmata because of the cost it bears. I owe nothing but thanks to Lord for granting me the ability to empathize with our Savior's death."

Isabella didn't know from where inside her the boldness or the words were coming from to confront the Pope. "If it does not appear to you, Your Holiness, it is because you are of this realm. You desire nothing but power and mortal things. Your death from this position will be soon and swift. You will not live to see my work in the name of the glory of Florence and the Lord."

Pope Martin had backed against the table. His face was twisted into one of confusion and fear. Then, in an instant, he turned to anger. "You… you, _a girl,_ dare to question my authority? Just because you made a vow does not mean you are free of crime. It does not mean Cosimo de Medici is free of blasphemy by indulging you in your delusions. I will have you imprisoned for this...this insolence to the Church! Guards!"

Isabella felt unusually calm as the wooden doors slammed against their hinges to reveal guards. She felt at peace in the eye of a hurricane. Those words were somehow not her's. She did not plan to say them and now that they were in the air, she felt as if she did her duty.

"You do not have to drag me," she said. "I will go to the prisons willingly as long as I am granted my Bible, rosary, and conference with my uncle."

Pope Martin's complexion matched his red robes. "We will see."

* * *

"How could you be so stupid?"

Isabella sat on the bed of her cell. The creaks and groans of the frame had kept her awake most of the night until she fell asleep from exhaustion. The stone walled chamber was not unlike other cells, but upon hearing that Isabella was Medici the jailer gave her a warmer blanket and less stale food. Both the food and the blanket remained untouched at the foot of her bed. "I said the truth and so did Father."

"The stigmata?" her uncle paced the small space. "I do not doubt you or your father's words, but how could you have been foolish enough to tell the Pope that it would not come because he is not a holy man? He is the holiest man on earth, Isabella. That is why he is called the Pope! People have been burned at the stake for less!"

"It wasn't me who said those things!"

"Then it was the Lord?"

Isabella stared her uncle in the eye. "Is there any other option?"

A silence fell between the two. Lorenzo sighed and sit next to Isabella. "There hasn't been someone who has taken your Vow in over a thousand years. We can't be sure of… what comes with it. However, you said what you said and now you are imprisoned for blasphemy and insolence- both at the Pope's request. I will talk to him and see if we may come to an arrangement. There has to be a way to persuade him from you rotting in a jail or swinging from a rope. You're more valuable to the Church outside these walls than inside them. It may take a couple days and I'll have to send word to your father."

"He will want to come himself, won't he?" Isabella asked.

"You are his daughter."

Isabella swallowed and felt deeply guilty. Florence was in the middle of a war and in financial ruin. That was the entire reason Isabella and Lorenzo came to Rome. Florence needed her father's banking knowledge to pick it up off the ground and end the suffering.

Why couldn't she keep her mouth shut? Where did the words come from? The Cardinal had made it clear that Isabella needed to watch what she said to the Pope.

However, she did not feel guilty for what she said.

"Please hurry," Isabella requested.

Lorenzo stood. "Here," he passed down her Bible with her rosary tucked between the pages. "Prove yourself in any means possible."

* * *

Isabella tossed and turned on the cot. It was simply wood, a bit of hay, and some cloth. The blanket remained at the bottom of the bunk. She tried to make it clear to the jailer that she was not to be treated better than any other prisoner based on her family name. He wouldn't have it, "I 'ave 'eard of your vow, Madonna. I'll be 'amned if a 'oly figure is not t'eated 'ight in my 'ail." She swallowed her pride and took the wool blanket.

The moonlight cascaded down onto Isabella's figure as she stared at the wall of the cell. There was a scuttling in the corner and Isabella turned. A brown figure against the stone, a field mouse burrowed in the hay. It must have been brought in with the hay.

Isabella rolled over and plucked a bit of bread from her tray to hold out to the creature. "Are you lost?" she inquired as the mouse tentatively took the bread from her fingers to nibble on. "I am too, I guess."

The mouse turned it head at her as if to say, "Go on."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. I know I'm supposed to give myself up completely and us go with whatever is required of me, but I'm afraid it is hurting my family. I've already hurt them twice. I didn't marry because of my vow and I ran away for a year. I know that hurt my parents. They thought I was dead. My father even ordered a plaque with my name to be installed in the church."

Isabella held out another piece of bread for the mouse, who instead of taking it, jumped into her palm. The girl gently held the mouse aloft, studying it as it nibbled away. "Was that selfish? Running away? Should I have just endured instead? Even if it killed me?"

The field mouse finished the moursal and Isabella held up another. Once it took the bread, she tenderly stroked its head. "I'm so very lonely, and I guess will be for the rest of my life. This is what I chose: to talk to a mouse in a cell. I can't ask for your judgement for this is a one way relationship. How did Saint Francis manage it? Preaching to animals when you don't know if they agree with you or not?"

The mouse began inspecting Isabella's hand, hoping to find more food. She obliged. "I guess that's the point of it. You just say what is required and hope people listen. The Pope listened, seeing that I'm in a cell. I know I said, or I think I said, that there is more to my life but what if this is it? What if I die hanging in the courtyard? Just another name on the family line?"

The mouse did not reply.

"I'm lonely, I'm scared, and I'm confused," Isabella said. "But I guess that isn't a foreign feeling for me."

She sat the mouse back down on the floor and watched it scurry away into the shadows. A moment later she heard it burrow into the old hay on the floor.

For a moment, she felt at peace.

It didn't last long. Isabella acted on a gut feeling and yelled. "JAILER!"

The man ran to the outside of her cell. "Yes, Madonna?"

"Pass a message to Cardinal Condulmerio that I wish for his counsel."

* * *

The Cardinal was awakened by his guards in the middle of the night.

"Cardinal Condulmerio!" One of the young guards shook him awake. "Isabella de Medici requests your presence."

"It's the middle of the night, Louis! Can it wait until the morning?"

"I went down to the dungeons myself, Cardinal. She is quite insistent."

The Cardinal sat up and threw the covers off of himself. "The dungeon? What on earth is she doing down there?"

"The Pope claims blasphemy and insolence, sir."

He sighed. "So she demands my counsel. Give me a moment to get ready."

Cardinal Condulmerio gathered his robes and wrapped them around his body. Somehow he knew that the child would suddenly turn against Pope. Her mother was famed for her sharp tongue, even in Rome, and was not surprising that it would be passed to Contessina de Medici's only daughter. However, he assumed Isabella to be smarter than this. Something must have happened in that room, something unexpected. Something so unexpected, in fact, that the Pope felt the need to imprison the first Perpetual Virgin in a thousand years.

The Cardinal emerged from his room and was guided by the guard to the dungeons. Isabella de Medici was small and the Cardinal could not imagine how she was successfully surviving the night.

Louis fumbled with the keys for a moment before opening the cell's iron door.

Isabella was curled up upon the cot with a blanket wrapped around her body. Her back was turned to the Cardinal, but he could faintly hear her whisper her way through her rosary.

" _Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen."_

Something about her voice was strangely calm. She was a brave, young girl, but it was almost unnerving how calm her "Hail Mary" had become at the end.

"Isabella de Medici?"

She sat up and turned to face the Cardinal. "You will be the next pope," she stated bluntly.

The Cardinal rushed to her side. "Isabella, what are you-" His eyes fell her hands which held her wooden rosary. Blood dripped from the crucifix onto the hay floor. Condulmerio felt his knees give way under his body and he dropped to the floor. Gingerly, with utmost respect and honor, he grasped Isabella's hands to inspect the the stigmata.

"You will be the next pope," Isabella repeated. Her voice sounded distant, almost from another room. "You will bring the Lord back to Rome and free those in bondage."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Two Years Prior**_

 _Isabella bent over a map that Ormanno was studying. The parchment was skillfully crafted, most likely created by a monk holed up in a monastery somewhere, detailing trade routes and republics. Vibrant colors notified the viewer of boundaries and roads._

 _She traced her finger, ever so gently, over the path from Florence to Rome. Once she touched Rome, she cast her eyes into France, back across the Holy Roman Empire, and into Jerusalem._

 _A frustrated growl erupted from Ormanno and he impatiently ran his hand through his curls._

 _"What is it?" Isabella inquired._

 _"The damned Milanese. They're blocking a route to the north and into the rest of the Holy Roman Empire. Negotiations are being made, but it will probably erupt into a war."_

 _"Can't we simply take a different route?"_

 _Ormanno scowled. "We could," he said. "But this is more about us standing our ground and not standing for a blatant acquisition of a passage that is supposed to be public."_

 _"Of course," Isabella glanced back down at the map. She was still learning that it is not common to simply turn one's other cheek in the face of imposition._

 _Ormanno stepped around the table. Isabella remained staring at the map, but she felt his athletic arms wrap around her waist. Somehow, over the last six months, Isabella and Ormanno had found themselves back into the rhythms of engagement- even with Isabella's vow. "You know," Ormanno's breath was on her ear. "I may have to lead men into battle."_

 _Isabella ran her hands would his forearms to clasp his hands. She messed with one of the rings on his finger. It was the one with the Albizzi seal, made to leave an impression on man face in a brawl. "And you'd just leave me behind?"_

 _She wasn't complaining. She was prompting him to remind him of her promise._

 _Ormanno kissed the edge of her jaw below her ear and whispered. "I'd take you with me. Nothing will strike more fear into the hearts of men than Isabella de Medici brandishing a blade."_

 _Isabella turned to face Ormanno and she felt his hands slip lower. She stared up into his eyes and gently caressed his face. He had been growing a beard of late and he was maturing out of his boyish features. "I can't fathom losing you without being by your side."_

 _"I know," he said, barely above a whisper. He bent down and kissed her. It was strange- they never kissed like their parents (or what they had seen their parents do). Each token of love was exchanged like it would be the last. Never forceful, always tender._

 _Isabella never got used to kissing Ormanno, it always felt like the first. Not that it was sloppy and awkward, but like a thousand drunken butterflies had become her insides and she found herself hungry for something she understood but remained a mystery._

 _They parted and Isabella pushed her head into his chest. Ormanno pulled her closer somehow and rested his chin on the crown of her head._

 _The pair remained still for a moment._

 _Heavy footsteps approached the room. Isabella and Ormanno quickly separated, casting apologetic glances at each other. Even though they were both sure Rinaldo was aware of their intimacy, the two kept the facade. If the truth was conformed to Rinaldo, he would be obligated to report to the church. Not to mention it would be difficult to prevent the God-fearing servants from doing so. The punishment for how far one can go before they broke the vow was not clear, but neither Ormanno or Isabella wished to experience burning at the stake._

 _The door was pushed open to reveal Ormanno's father and his associate Andrea Pazzi._

 _Pazzi intrigued Isabella, like a child gazing through glass at a venomous snake. He was the only other powerful figure that knew of Isabella's location, but he never reported the information to her family or the Signoria. His lack of doing so created suspicion in Isabella. She knew Rinaldo would not be above threatening Pazzi's life to keep her safe, but the fact he was not taking advantage of such a valuable opportunity to blackmail Albizzi was concerning. The Albizzi and Pazzi were not friends, simply allies- something that could be broken with such information._

 _"The Signoria has voted to go to war against the Milanese," Rinaldo remarked. He bent over the maps that Ormanno had previously been studying and pointed to a location. "They are already gathering soldiers throughout region."_

 _"No attacks have been made yet?" Ormanno inquired. He was bent over the table once again._

 _Isabella glanced nervously at Pazzi. With him present, Isabella felt out of place in the family she had claimed for the last six months. His constant smirk and beady stare made her feel no bigger than a simple girl with no title- which was exactly what she was._

 _"No. But they are clearly preparing. Since we are only starting today, they will have a clear advantage over us."_

 _"However,"Pazzi spoke, "We do have the advantage of the Medici bank to fund the war, something they do not have. When we are ready, we can crush them very quickly."_

 _At the mention of her family name, Isabella flinched. An act that did not go unnoticed by any of the men._

 _"Well," Ormanno started, "when we are prepared we need to gather in the south and north. If we engage on both sides we can drive them back into Milan."_

 _Isabella took a breath. "You can't do that?"_

 _"Sorry?" Ormanno turned to her. Isabella glanced at Rinaldo, who was staring with furrowed brows. She avoided Pazzi's gaze._

 _"If-if you drive them back into Milan it will keep them near their resources. Not to mention that is also where they live, so they will be inspired to fight until the last man. But," Isabella stood next to Ormanno once again. "If you have groups in both the northeast and southeast, you can drive them into Alps and against the Ligurian Sea. By that point, it will be winter and if they go into the Alps they will die of frostbite. Push them into the Alps, you can pick off men as the retreat. Or, if they choose to go toward the Ligurian Sea, you will be on an elevated plane and then you can shoot down. And if my knowledge is correct, during that time of the year, it's rather misty."_

 _"Just like Hannibal," Rinaldo said._

 _Isabella nodded._

 _"Not bad," Pazzi commented._

 _Rinaldo gathered the maps. "Ormanno, Andrea, take these to the Signoria. We can work out the finer details with the others."_

 _Pazzi turned and left while Ormanno followed him with a handful of parchment. Isabella began to trail after them to retire to her room, but Rinaldo stopped her._

 _"Isabella, I need to speak to you."_

 _"Yes?"_

 _Rinaldo rounded the table to come to Isabella's side. He sat on the edge of the surface and gestured for Isabella to join him. It wasn't often that Isabella saw head of the Florentine army so relaxed._

 _"Given the time that has passed since you left Florence, your family has pronounced you dead." His voice was softer, calmer than usual. "They are holding a, um, service in two days."_

 _"A funeral without the body."_

 _Rinaldo nodded. "Naturally, the Albizzi household will be obligated to attend." He took a breath. "Do you wish to see it?"_

 _"Sorry?"_

 _"If I was in your position, I would be very curious to see what happened at my funeral and how_ **certain** _people react."_

 _Isabella considered the proposition. "Wouldn't I be recognized?"_

 _"Not if we disguise you well enough. Nobody looks twice at a commoner."_

 _It was a worthy idea. Seeing how her family would be reacting would bring her information for blackmail (an unfortunate consideration) or at least shame and guilt if she returned to the Medici. She doubted any member of her family would be focused enough to look through a crowd of Florentines to search for the missing girl._

 _"Do you have a plan?"_

Isabella shuddered and fell into the straw of the cell.

The Cardinal stared down at her lifeless body in a mixture of horror and confusion. The blood that was once on his hands from the stigmata had disappeared, leaving only a faint scent of roses.

He gathered his courage and gingerly turned Isabella over.

All color had drained from her face, leaving her ashy and pale. Her breathing was faint, but between each breath he could hear a fervent prayer. He could not recognize the language, for it was not Latin nor Italian- the only two languages that Isabella knew.

The stories of the previous Virgins and saints rushed into the Cardinal's mind. Each person who partook in the vow was granted with gifts and Isabella was obviously not forgotten. Glossologia, prophecy, stigmata, and the mystical knowledge that she presented to the Pope.

Condulmerio crossed himself.

"Jailer," he called and a figure appeared in the doorway. "Fetch me some wine."

He cradled her torso in his arms and whispered prayers into the air. Even though Isabella was supposed to be wed by now, she seemed to be nothing more than a child in her vulnerable state. It wasn't surprising, for children have always been more attuned to the Holy Spirit.

Isabella stirred and groaned, slowly coming out of the ecstasy. She pushed the Cardinal's hands away and opened her eyes. "Let me go," she mumbled.

Condulmerio obliged and set her in the straw. The jailer returned, holding a jar of wine in one hand and a cup in the other. "What happened?"

"She passed out," he said, standing. "Take care of her, I must speak to the Pope."

"The Pope _jailed_ her?" Cosimo rubbed his temples. "Why did she inherit her mother's tongue?"

Lorenzo shifted uncomfortably. "He hasn't said yet, but I believe he may be very close to hanging her, if another incident occurs."

"I thought he favored her," Cosimo sighed. "So I sent her to help sue for peace."

"I'm sorry," Lorenzo crossed his arms and glared at his brother. "I believe you were the one who sent the letter _claiming she had the stigmata_?"

"I did," Cosimo said. "I didn't anticipate him cornering her and claiming she was trying to usurp his power as a heretic."

"Does she even have it, Cosimo?"

There was a pause.

"Yes."

A silence fell between the two. It was interrupted by Contessina pushing open the doors to the study. "Where is my daughter, Lorenzo?"

The pair of men exchanged glances. Cosimo took a deep breath.

"There has been some complications regarding her visit with the Pope."

"Which are?" The fire in Contessina's eyes was unsettling.

"Your husband," Lorenzo said, "Has taken the liberty of writing to the Pope that Isabella has received the stigmata and has been receiving visions from the Lord."

"Yes I know."

"The Pope jailed her under suspicion of heresy and treason."

There was a tense beat. Contessina took in a deep breath and moved to the window. Below the crowds milled about, completely unaware of the crisis taking place above them. She shifted her gaze to the tower atop the Signoria.

"Isabella can take care of herself."

"I'm sorry?" Cosimo was taken aback by his wife's claim.

Contessina stood firm. "Florence is in the middle of a war. She is far safer in Rome than she is here. At least she won't go gallivanting out into a battlefield or get trapped in the crosshairs."

"Contessina, he may hang her!"

"No, he won't."

The brothers exchanged glances. "What do you mean?"

"She's a Medici," Contessina said. "If he lays a hand on her he risks losing our support, which would be a disaster. Isabella is more useful to him alive than dead."

"You do realise that you are accepting the risk of her being a bartering chip against us?"

"I am, but she will be safe."

Contessina's stare presented a warning to the brothers. She was right and she knew it. Isabella had been in captivity before and somehow took care of herself for over a year after running away. The girl was, without a doubt, the toughest out of all of the Medicis. She was gifted with the skill of constantly escaping death and using situations to her advantage. Of course, Isabella was a threat. But she could only be contained, not eliminated. Even then, containing her would be quite a feat. There was a substantial possibility that she was already making her way back to Florence.

"Okay, fine," Cosimo leaned against his desk. "She'll stay in Rome."

Isabella was curled in the corner of her cell. A kaleidoscope of colors flashed against her vision, even though she kept her hands firmly pressed against her eyes.

She didn't know if it was her presence in the Holy See, but the visions were becoming more common, more painful, and more confusing. Isabella used to be able to make a coherent conclusion from what the Lord gave her, but no description could give light to what she experienced. The Book of Revelation made more sense than what she was seeing.

For the first time, in a long, long while, Isabella was scared.

Not the same scared of being threatened with death or violence, but a wet, icy fear. The fear of unknowing and confusion. For once, she felt alone. Where was God? The visions that brought her comfort and purpose had become scrambled.

Was she going mad?

Was she doing penance?

What was her sin?

Was it the presumption of prophecy?

Isabella held herself tighter and gripped her rosary. Her vision blurred and she let out a silent, mournful sob. Tears fell faster than her ability to register her grief. Her heart longed for her father and mother. She may be strong and willful, but Isabella was still a child that craves a form of comfort.

With gasping breath she let out a barely audible, "Lord, please."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Two Years Prior**_

 _War was just as bloody as Isabella had anticipated._

 _She kneeled over a still pool of water that was fed by the mellow river that ran through the valley. Her reflection bore an image that startled the teenager. Her hair, which had been cropped to a shoulder length, was matted down with mud, blood, and brains. The scars that dotted her face from a childhood illness were indiscernible from the ruins of battle._

 _She bent, cusping water between her shaking hands, and drank. Isabella had strangely never enjoyed the taste of wine, even if it dulled the pain of her battered body. Slowly, but surely, her thirst was ebbed away._

 _Isabella stood and ambled to the bank of the river to attempt to wash her face and hands. The cold water was welcoming in contrast to the horror of human remains being taken by the water._

 _There was rustle behind her._

 _She froze with the palms of her hands pressed into her eyes. Someone was behind her and from the sound of a blade being taken out of its sheath, they were more likely foe than friend._

 _They were less than two feet behind her when Isabella slammed her hands into the river bank. Using the leverage, she rounded her legs behind her and with one swift move she knocked her assailant into the mud. Isabella flipped up to ground her feet and face the soldier, immediately drawing her own blade, a small yet deadly weapon._

 _The man in question was slightly larger than her and by the shock painted across his face he certainly wasn't expecting such a swift reaction. Isabella recognized him as a Milanize soldier by the red overtunic exposed between his chainmail._

 _"You're..you're a woman?" he stuttered._

 _Isabella kicked the blade out of his hand and into the river with a resounding splash. "What about it?"_

 _He glanced down at her sword, which was firmly pressed against his throat, drawing blood that trickled down his neck. "It's impossible."_

 _"Yet here I am," she pressed harder. "Do you plead mercy before the Lord or shall I paint this riverbank red?"_

 _She could see the contemplation behind his eyes. "I refuse to be killed by a woman."_

 _"Is that mercy?"_

 _There was pause._

 _"No."_

 _Isabella took in a breath. He was unarmed, no longer a threat. Even though he essentially signed over his own life to Death, it wasn't her right. "You will return to your camp," she ordered. "And you will tell no one of what has happened."_

Isabella pressed her face between the bars of the cell in an attempt to see out into the hallway. She squinted but couldn't see farther than a foot. How the jailer was able to walk around in near darkness was beyond her. Her only light was the small window at the top of her cell with light that was defused by the dank and the dusty air.

She felt the little mouse from before snuggle into the nape of her neck. In the long hours of waiting and praying, the two became rather bonded. Isabella would fit bits of bread to the mouse out of her hand and let it hide under her cloak at night to stay warm. She didn't name it for fear that it would run or be killed, but its presence remained comforting.

Isabella stood and began to pace her cell, holding the creature in her hands and gently stroking its small head. It nibbled at her thumb in response. "Shhhhh..." she whispered. She felt a deep foreboding in her blood, almost anxiety and dread but more the sense of unknowing.

"She's down here, sir," an unfamiliar voice precluded the unmistakable clatter of the door opening. Obviously, they meant her. There weren't very many prisoners at all. The church often chose to imprison and execute heretics locally and Isabella was the rare exception.

Quickly, she tucked the mouse into her cowl to hide it from view. It pawed at her skin, almost confused by the action but resigned to nestling within the fabric. Isabella didn't really understand why she chose keep the mouse, but it small heartbeat on her collarbone kept her grounded.

One of the pages, a boy about her own age, peered at her curiously. He was nervous. "The Pope would like to see you ma'am."

 _Of course_ , she thought. _Something about what had happened last night._

Isabella couldn't exactly remember what had happened or why- all she knew was that it was important. Probably the most important event to happen in St. Peter's for the last decade. She didn't know for sure, but the tide was changing like the monthly moon. The air suspended itself like the breath of a newborn- unsure and unsteady.

The door opened and Isabella stepped out next to the boy. She was certainly shorter than him but there was a glimmer of fear in his eyes as he looked down. "Uh, this way."

The page guided her through familiar halls decorated vividly with frescos that gradually darkened with soot from centuries of torches the higher up they went. For a moment, a single heartbeat, Isabella could have sworn that the walls were dripping blood that was twisting and dancing around the figures. She blinked. It was gone. "...Signoria?"

Isabella pulled herself out of the daze and followed the boy, almost racing to leave the hall and reach their destination. Her stomach turned. Something was happening- something sinister. The air was divine but the human intent was tainted. The tide was turning.

He took a turn that she did not recognize and a small, almost tucked away, door revealed a narrow alley. Petrichor wafted up from the cobblestones amidst the waves of rain beyond the alley. Instinctively, she pulled her cowl over her hair. She knew it wouldn't truly protect her from the rain but old habits die hard.

Isabella was right. Before the page and her made it less than a block her hair had began to stick to skin. She was halfway thankful, the water was washing off the smell of the prison cell and disguising how truly unkempt her hair was.

The boy was moving fast, barely giving Isabella any time to examine the environment in hopes of uncovering where he was taking her. Any quick glances to either side were in vain, for the rain obscured any distinguishable landmarks. She had only been to Rome twice. When she made her vow, she rode through the night at the tender age of thirteen to be blessed by the Pope himself. It was a miracle that she made it there and back in one piece. The other time was with the Albizzis in the midst of a war. Isabella had cut her hair short and wore a hat that sagged to one side to hide her noticeable disfigurement from the plague.

He turned a corner and beckoned for her to enter into another door. It was similar to the wooden one that they used to exit the Vatican and let out a deep groan as the page pushed it.

Isabella pulled down her cowl and looked around the interior of the building that they had stepped into. The bricks peaking through the plaster on the walls were stacked in the same Roman fashion as ruins Isabella explored outside Florence as a child. The room was obviously a chapel. Behind the altar a painting of Madonna and Child was affixed under centuries old mosaics of the apostles. She instinctively crossed herself in the presence of the crucifix.

"Isabella de Medici," a familiar voice spoke behind her. She turned to be face to face with the very Pope who had her imprisoned for the last several days. Behind him, watching cautiously, was Cardinal Condulmerio. She could make out his plain features more clearly, with the soft light streaming in through the windows. The Pope took a careful, measured step toward her. "You came to Rome several years ago under a different Pope to take the vow of Perpetual Virginity so that you may dedicate yourself to Christ. You arrived a second time with the army- don't look surprised, I know everything here." Isabella could now feel his hot breath on her face, but didn't break her resolve of direct eye contact. "Now, you have come to sue for peace between Milan and Florence along with the hope that the church could provide spiritual direction for these 'gifts' that the Lord has bestowed upon you."

He walked to the altar, motioning for Isabella to follow. The two stood, watching the twisting shadows of rain against the Madonna. "You were never reconsecrated with a purpose, your grandfather did not allow it." There was pause as he let the words hover in the air between then, caught between one breath and another. "Cardinal Condulmerio spoke to me about an incident last night, something that coincided with a vision that was delivered to me in my dreams."

The Pope finally turned to Isabella. She saw through him, almost as if he was nothing more than the glass in the walls. He was no longer the man who imprisoned her for trying to usurp his authority and compared her to demon in from the book of Revelation. There was glimmer in his soul, something different.

 _ **Dominus conservet eum et vivificet eum et beatum faciat eum in terra et non tradat eum in animam inimicorum eius****_

Something holy.

 _ **Dominus opem ferat illi super lectum doloris eius universum stratum eius versasti in infirmitate eius**_

"Your father is about to mimic artistry found only in the Lord's creation, bringing hope amidst the ruins of this war and great devastation," he said. "Isabella, you must insure that his work goes forth, no matter what happens in Florence. The Medici name will be one with devotion to Chris, so you must rise above your station, as a pledge to the One True God, and allow truth to prevail no matter the cost. Cities will fall behind you as they fall from Heaven, for you are hope, truth, and perseverance."

 _ **ego dixi Domine miserere mei sana animam meam quoniam peccavi tibi**_

Deep within Isabella, she knew she had understood this pledge since before she was begotten.

 _ **inimici mei dixerunt mala mihi quando morietur et peribit nomen eius**_

Nothing the Pope spoke of was strange nor surprising, even if it was the first time Christ's mission as ordinance upon her soul had been spoken aloud. A wave of reassurance and anxiety flowed through her body as ants crawling through her veins and burrowing into her bones.

 _ **et si ingrediebatur ut videret vane loquebatur cor eius congregavit iniquitatem sibi egrediebatur foras et loquebatur**_

The moments between her heartbeat spoke in whispers to her soul in words Isabella had yet to truly understand.

 _ **in id ipsum adversum me susurrabant omnes inimici mei adversus me cogitabant mala mihi**_

Isabella closed her eyes and felt her hands be pulled upward in grace, posturing themselves in ecstacy.

 _ **etenim homo pacis meae in quo speravi qui edebat panes meos magnificavit super me subplantationem**_

A wave of spirit pierced her heart so deeply that she didn't feel the the wet red liquid entwine itself around her arms and drip to the floor.

 _ **tu autem Domine miserere mei et resuscita me et retribuam eis**_

The mouse buried within her cowl became still- almost as if the spirit of St. Francis had befallen it to witness the glorification of Isabella's vow.

 _ **in hoc cognovi quoniam voluisti me quoniam non gaudebit inimicus meus super me**_

A deep silence fell upon the small ancient chapel. The rain knocking on the window was now muffled by the heavy grace filling the room.

 _ **me autem propter innocentiam suscepisti et confirmasti me in conspectu tuo in aeternum**_

The world became still around the four within the chapel. An unexplainable stillness reached across the earth in a swelling wave. Even upon the battlefield, the tremors of the mystical pressure rattled soldiers and generals alike. In the command tent, Albizzi's cup of wine fell over, spilling the deep red liquid across his strategy maps and pulled the ink together into a single mass. The mystery of the dome, revealed through prior creation, became clear as Cosimo witnessed Brunelleschi tapped an fertile egg upon a table in a demonstration of his plans for the Duomo.

Contessina, the woman who bore Isabella and held the babe against her breast, stood in her daughter's room and tenderly opened the small journal that sat the bedside table. Tucked between the pages sat Isabella's beloved wooden rosary. Contessina lifted the chain of beads curiously and held them against her heart with shaking hands.

 _ **benedictus Dominus Deus Israhel a saeculo et in saeculum fiat fiat**_

When she opened her eyes with an utterance of "Thy will be done," Isabella found God's chosen servant kneeling before her passion with the utmost humility.

Christ had christened Isabella in His blood for His divine purpose.


End file.
